


Diana

by evelynegrey, fortunefavorsthebrave



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Swedish Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 14:24:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4438889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evelynegrey/pseuds/evelynegrey, https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortunefavorsthebrave/pseuds/fortunefavorsthebrave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He finishes another signature and looks up, expecting to see yet another girl with stars in her eyes, but finds himself facing a young man smiling at him serenely from across the table. They don't get many boys their own age, and this one certainly seems to have come of his own volition, standing by himself and sporting a well fitting Take Me Home shirt in black and white.<br/>“Hi, Louis,” he says breathlessly, shuffling from one foot to the other, and there's something vaguely familiar about him, something pleasant about his presence that makes Louis pause.<br/>“Have we met before?” he asks, taking in the boy's clear green eyes, wide mouth and long curly hair falling to his shoulders messily.<br/>“Um, no,” he smiles bashfully and shakes his head, “but I saw you in Stockholm last month. I was in the front row. You smiled at me.”</p>
<p>AU in which Louis makes questionable decisions, Zayn understands, Liam tries to, Niall is impressed, and Harry is quite possibly One Direction's biggest fan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diana

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Malena!

The book signing is just as loud as Louis had anticipated, the queue seemingly endless as it weaves through the room and out the doors on the other side. It's strange, to have so much attention but so little time to appreciate it, yet the people on the other side of his desk are obviously thrilled to have their 15 seconds or so, and Louis feels a need to match their enthusiasm.

It's a blur of young faces, the occasional child, sometimes crying, but they all seem pleased to walk away with a book held close to their heart with four signatures drying into the pages. Louis feels a bit guilty for forgetting names as soon as a face is gone, when they all know his name perfectly. In moments like these, he finds himself wishing he was able to give more even if he knows it will never be enough.

He finishes another signature and looks up, expecting to see yet another girl with stars in her eyes, but finds himself facing a young man smiling at him serenely from across the table. They don't get many boys their own age, and this one certainly seems to have come of his own volition, standing by himself and sporting a well fitting Take Me Home shirt in black and white.

“Hi, Louis,” he says breathlessly, shuffling from one foot to the other, and there's something vaguely familiar about him, something pleasant about his presence that makes Louis pause.

“Have we met before?” he asks, taking in the boy's clear green eyes, wide mouth and long curly hair falling to his shoulders messily.

“Um, no,” he smiles bashfully and shakes his head, “but I saw you in Stockholm last month. I was in the front row. You smiled at me.”

His accent is thick, voice skirting uncertainly over the words, and Louis does remember now; the boy at the front of the crowd who'd looked so out of place yet exactly where he should be. Louis had found himself going back more than once just to make sure he was still having a good time.

"Did you come all the way here from Stockholm? Quite a journey to get some book signed," Louis says, making polite conversation and realising he actually wants to, this time. He glances at the post-it on the inside of the cover, 'Harry Styles' clearly written in a neat but flowing style. In a moment of inspiration, he writes it as Harold, hoping it'll be a nice surprise.

"I live in Gothenburg, actually. It was worth it, though." Harry is still smiling like his whole world is sat right in front of him, and it's really sweet, and quite refreshing, to have somebody so close and not trying to reach out for him or crying over his existence.

"I'm glad you liked the show, and came to this." That performance had been a really good one, but it always is when they get to go to Sweden.

"Thank you." It's not exactly a normal answer, but Harry seems so excited and sincere that Louis can't bring himself to care.

“Well, thank _you_ , Harry Styles,” Louis smiles and hands him his book. “I hope I'll see you again soon.”

“You will,” Harry assures him happily, delicately placing a strand of hair behind his ear with his free hand. “Bye, Louis.”

“Bye, Harold.”

They keep eye contact as Harry starts backing away, Louis winking just to see him stumble and blush a bit, until he has to turn to the next fan, reaching for her book. None of the other fans are nearly as fun, though it's sweet to see the little kids that look up to him getting overjoyed to hear him say their names.

When Louis piles into the car with the others, he forgets to talk about wide eyes and curls when they're trading stories about the people they met and how they acted. For some reason, he wants to keep the meeting a secret, hold it close as something only the two of them know.

By the time the car stops by the hotel, Louis' talked himself into pulling out his phone and searching Harry's name, just curious to see the results that load while they go to get settled in their rooms. He finds Harry's twitter easily enough, and scrolls through his tweets deliberately while making himself some tea and getting changed.

He's surprised at what he finds. Harry is definitely a dedicated fan, having uploaded pictures from their concerts, quotes, updates and general comments about everything. What really stands out, however, is how _nice_ he is about it. Louis can't find a single bad word about himself, or any of the other boys for that matter, no intrusive questions, no desperate attempt to get attention, no negativity about the music or their performances. And he can't help but laugh when he gets to the sweet comments about himself, so much praise on his hair and his clothes and his voice, but nothing uncomfortable like his curves or his bum, something he never much enjoyed reading about. Harry seems like a genuinely decent person, and Louis can't quite believe he's real.

Next, he finds instagram photos connected to twitter, full of laughably hipster styled black and white snapshots with mysterious phrases, and a fairly low following. It seems like wherever he is online, he's decent, unapologetically himself, and actually kind. The only signs of him being a fan of the band on the account are the edges of their posters in the background of shots taken in his home, and a photo of the stadium they performed at in Stockholm, with "show me what you're all about" typed underneath.

Before he can think better of it, Louis goes back to Harry's twitter account and presses “follow”, only then seeing the latest tweet from just minutes ago. “He winked at me,” it says, followed by a winky face. No name or reference as to whom he's talking about. Louis grins and puts his phone down, waiting.

An hour later, he checks Harry's twitter again and finds that there's been no other updates, no acknowledgement of the fact that Louis chose to follow him for absolutely no reason, but there's a direct message waiting in his inbox. “Thank you so much for the follow,” it says with a happy face at the end. “Never thought you'd remember me.”

“You have a memorable face,” Louis replies, adding a smiley face himself for good measure. “How are you finding London?”

"It's big," Harry answers within minutes, just as Louis is settling into bed, "not sure how anyone can get used to it. Is Doncaster big?"

Louis laughs again, his mood increased when he hears Niall's hysterical laughter through the wall, combined with the distant sound of a TV. "No, and it's not as impressive. How about your town? Or city?"

“Not so big. But it's pretty. You should play there some time.”

“I hope we will,” Louis writes sincerely while wondering what kind of life Harry has there, and if he's at all bothered by being a fan of One Direction in a world where boys aren't supposed to like boybands. Louis never did himself, after all.

“I hope you don't mind me saying,” Harry replies after a few minutes, “but I got a ticket for your concert in the O2 on the fifth. I'll be in the front row (:”

“Of course I don't mind, that's great!” Louis types out quickly. “Are you going alone?”

"Probably, yes. I don't get to talk to many other fans." It's strange to have an idea of somebody so early, but Louis feels like Harry isn't saying it to get sympathy, he's only being honest. And really, Louis isn't so surprised. He was at the signing alone when he could have had a few days in London with a friend. But he's apparently fine with that, so Louis is happy for him.

"I'll try to make it a good show for you then, to keep you company." He's not even entirely sure what that means, really.

“You always do,” Harry replies, and Louis feels his face heat up, a warmth settling in his chest. He's not quite used to such straight forward compliments, even after all this time. Or maybe he just can't get enough.

“Thanks (: I try my best.”

Maybe it's because there's no reason for Harry to be this friendly. Louis has seen multiple accounts thanking Liam for following them, even if Liam didn't choose to, only to turn on him minutes later and start demanding answers to things he has no control over. Harry already has Louis following him, and got a book signed, but he's choosing to be as casual as two people who meet by chance in a pub.

He's trying to think of a topic to talk about when there's a knock at his unlocked door, and Zayn comes through when called. He's good like that, still waiting because he understands that privacy is something they rarely get. He crawls onto the bed and settles close, smiling absently.

“There was a guy at the signing today,” Louis tells him, almost like it's a secret, sliding down the pillows to make himself more comfortable.

“I'm sure there were several,” Zayn replies neutrally.

“This one came from Sweden,” Louis goes on, looking back at his phone. “He was at the Stockholm concert. Coming to see us in the O2 as well.”

“How do you know all this?”

“He told me.”

"You got all that in under half a minute?" Zayn asks, eyebrow raised, and sneaks his hand around Louis' cup of tea to take a sip.

"Well, no. I sort of found him on twitter."

"Are you talking publicly? That's going to ruin him online." It's so typical Zayn to care about how the other person would be treated by their fans.

"He actually sent me a direct message and we went from there. He's nice." It's weird, trying to validate Harry's personality to Zayn, and even stranger to realise Zayn must have met him, too, only seconds later, and he wasn't remembered. “He's not flaunting it or anything.”

“So who's his favourite?” Zayn grins and Louis feels himself flush again.

“It's not like I've asked.”

“Well, it's pretty clear who's yours.”

Louis pulls his phone out again and types out a message, a test of sorts. “Zayn says hi.”

“Tell him it was very nice meeting him today,” Harry writes back immediately, and Louis lets out a small huff of breath, holding out the phone to show Zayn.

Zayn stares at the message, then just takes the phone, typing something out and then tapping a few things, scrolling. Leaning over, Louis discovers that he's looking at Harry's twitter feed, just like Louis had. "Seems like a nice person," he agrees after a few minutes, "very fond of you."

Louis hopes his blush is hidden by the action of taking back the phone and checking their conversation to see what Zayn wrote. He almost drops the phone. "He'll never let you go now he knows you'll give him the attention he thrives on. Z"

“Wanker,” he grumbles, punching Zayn's shoulder half heartedly while trying to suppress a smile at the single smiley face Harry sends back, seemingly unbothered by Zayn's shenanigans. Louis doesn't think he's ever met such a carefree person before, aside from maybe Niall. God knows he didn't manage to keep his chill like this when he met David Beckham.

He'd honestly expected Zayn to be a little more wary, given how heavily guarded they are as a group, but he seems relaxed, and puts up with Louis chatting to him as well as sending random things to Harry, like asking what his favourite brand of tea is, only to argue that his favourite is the best, or where he got the shirt he was wearing today. It's so easy to keep talking, and while it usually takes a few minutes for Harry to form an answer, it's a nice feeling to imagine him in almost the same setting, in a hotel or café, messaging.

“I'm sorry that my English isn't so good,” Harry writes at some point and Louis has to laugh out loud at that.

“Your English is pretty much word perfect, Harold,” he tells him. “Don't apologise.”

“That's because I have access to a dictionary (:” Harry replies. “Sorry if I'm taking long to answer.”

Louis shakes his head, but he can't quite stop smiling.

They text until Louis realises it's midnight and he really needs to get some sleep if he's going to be ready to travel first thing in the morning. He tells Harry as much and gets the reply, “We'll be flying at the same time then! Don't oversleep.”

Louis promises not to, so long as Harry doesn't either, and when he curls up in the middle of the massive bed, he doesn't feel so alone.

***

Things are a careful rush the next morning, with everyone but Louis and his bandmates stressed about losing things or giving the wrong impression as they gather everything and get pushed into separate cars. Louis, as always, prioritises a proper breakfast with tea, so his hair is still flat under his beanie and his shoes are untied as he settles into the seat, still drinking from a travel mug he filled to the brim. It was that or steal a cup and write an apology topped by some money to replace it, again.

Harry wishes him a good trip, sent at an absurd hour that makes Louis question a reality where people are forced to get out of bed at such hours. Harry points out that he's probably been up that early, too, and it makes him feel slightly ashamed for having forgotten what it's like to travel with public transport, but he manages to make a joke out of it that earns more smiley faces from Harry.

It's just easy, spending his time chatting to Harry in moments where he'd otherwise have been bored, and he doesn't want to stop, even when he should. It feels like he's known Harry beyond the day before, and for a brief moment, Louis understands how their fans might feel. It's a little strange, so he distracts himself by asking Harry more questions about Sweden.

By the time he's at the airport, realising Harry will have to turn his phone off soon, they're in the middle of a conversation about Swedish holidays that sound far more fun than the English ones, and Louis doesn't want to go. It's only a few hours' flight, but losing his connection to Harry feels oddly disconcerting, and he doesn't know what he's supposed to do instead.

They keep exchanging texts until the very last minute when Harry gets on his own plane, and then there's a few terrible moments when Louis' just staring at his phone, hearing the engines start up to take them up and away.

“You alright?” Zayn asks next to him and Louis startles a little, gripping his mobile tightly in his hand.

“Yeah, yeah,” he assures him, seeing Liam and Niall on the other side of the aisle, their security members all around them. He'd forgotten that he was surrounded by people.

"Talking to your friend?" Zayn asks, having the decency to be quiet about it, and Louis can only nod, curling up in the chair a little and leaning against him for stability, needing to be grounded as they're taken further away from England. It barely feels like home any more, with how little time they actually spend there. It doesn't feel like he's actually in his own country until he sees the signs for Donny.

Niall drags his guitar down from the luggage area and demands they sing a few "classics", seeming to notice Louis' mood, and it works, getting to see his best friends trying to hit high notes from Little Mix songs, joined by Zayn half-heartedly trying to go through the steps with them all to get them moving. The moment they land, however, Louis' back on twitter, reading Harry's updates and asking if he made it home safely. The conversation starts up again easily, and Louis thinks Amsterdam has never been lovelier.

They perform on the RTL Late Night that evening, doing a few interviews before they get back to their hotel, and Louis joins the others in Niall's room as usual, but he checks his phone as soon as he's settled, pleased to find several messages waiting in his inbox. A few are just updates on what Harry's doing, but the last one makes Louis blink owlishly in surprise at his screen.

“Loved your performance on RTL! You did really well. Nice shirt (:”

And that's when it hits him that Harry must be fully aware of what Louis' up to. He must have known he was going to Amsterdam even before Louis told him. He's already watched the performance and he's going to see the interviews tomorrow the moment they're out and there's probably not a single video of him from the last four years that Harry hasn't seen.

His thoughts flash back to the X Factor, the video diaries, and he's so embarrassed that Niall asks why his face is all red, but Louis ignores him. There's a difference between vaguely knowing there are thousands out there who have been completely aware of what you're doing for the last four years, and meeting somebody personally who has that knowledge.

"Thanks! Your shirt is probably good, too," he writes, desperate to take the conversation away from himself for possibly the first time in his life. The reward is given to him ten minutes later. Harry hasn't answered, and Louis is thinking he fucked up, but he notices there's a new photo on Harry's twitter account, linked through instagram. It's taken by somebody else, of the torso and lower half of Harry's face. It's the first photo in a long time that's in colour, showing the floral pattern decorating the material that's barely covering his chest, buttoned only at the bottom. "Pretty good, but not as good as yours," the caption reads.

Louis laughs in disbelief, charmed in a way he probably shouldn't be, and wishes for a moment that he could comment on the picture without causing an uproar. Instead, he stares at it for a bit longer, the necklaces hanging low on Harry's chest, the few hairs visible there as well as bits of tattoos. He looks older than he did at the signing.

“Who's that?” Niall suddenly asks, leaning over Louis' shoulder.

“No one,” Louis says before he can think of a not so obvious answer and switches the display off quickly.

"No one? Nice name, they look really good," Niall continues, as if Louis didn't react in a panic. "How'd you find them?"

"Let it go, alright?" Louis practically begs, skin heating up at the compliment and not really willing to share details, especially not when there are people beyond the four of them in the room. Maybe later, Paul talking to Liam about something too boring as a substitute for the rest of them not caring to listen. Niall just shrugs it off and smiles anyway.

"Okay, cool. Well, we're thinking of ordering in food. What do you want?"

The evening passes slowly after that, Louis refraining from texting Harry when he knows Niall and Zayn will notice, and when he finally gets back to his own room later he immediately apologises and explains that he doesn't want the other boys to know too much.

“Are you embarrassed?” Harry asks, and it's impossible to tell if he's hurt or just curious. Louis feels awful either way.

“No, of course not,” he sends back. “But the less people who know the more protected you'll be.”

“Why would I need protection?”

The question sits weirdly in Louis' stomach as he tries to figure out a way to answer it without sounding like a complete twat. Harry doesn't know what the business is like, or what being famous is like. He doesn't understand that he's treading on thin ice just by talking to Louis.

"There are people who wouldn't take very kindly to us talking so often," he eventually manages, feeling like he wants to explain further, but can't trust who's on his account at any moment. In a moment of weakness, he taps out another message. "If I ever say something that you think is uncharacteristic or out of line, please don't take it personally." All he can do is hope that Harry has an idea of what's going on, if he's as invested in their lives as he seems to be.

"I understand," Harry replies, moments later, and it's such a relief that Louis almost forgets how to breathe.

A few seconds later he gets another message, this time just a line of numbers. It's a phone number.

He copies it and pastes it into a real text message, writing “Harry?” before sending it off.

“Hi Louis(:” comes the reply.

Louis smiles slowly, saving the number under “Harold” before starting to type again.

“I was thinking,” he writes, encouraged by the sudden freedom of completely private conversation, “that I could maybe find you a spare ticket to the X Factor finale. If you'd like to come, that is. I know it's in London and everything so if you can't make it I'll understand.”

"I'd love to," Harry answers, and Louis almost wishes he would use more punctuation so Louis can tell what he's thinking. "The Swedish equivalents don't do X Factor justice, and I've been following it this season."

"Why have you been keeping up with it? Some people in England don't even bother," Louis smiles, completely endeared by his enthusiasm.

"Because you talked about it."

Louis swallows, and feels something close to butterflies start flapping violently in his stomach. How does Harry keep doing this to him? Loads of people probably watch the X Factor because of him, but he's never actually thought about it before.

“So you like it?” he asks.

“I do. I've been looking forward to the finale for ages, since I found out you'd be performing. It must be nice, going back to where it all began.”

"Yeah, it's really nice. I like going back to talk to the contestants, remind them that we were there once." Nobody else really wants to sit around and listen to Louis ramble on about what he's actually interested in. He can imagine Harry, sat back in his home in Sweden, checking his phone and reading over their conversation, and it feels safe. He dares to imagine that one day they could video chat, so Louis can see him properly. But that's too risky. Too real, and if anyone manages to get hold of it, he could be in trouble.

“Would you like to tell me what it was like?” Harry asks, polite as always, and Louis does. He wants to prattle on for ages and ages about one of the most amazing experiences of his life, and Harry lets him. He wants to tell the story like it's never been told before, because he doesn't have to screen himself when it's just Harry. Harry's not going to tell anyone.

And that's when Louis realises that he _could_ tell someone. He could easily reveal all of Louis' secrets if he wanted to. Louis is probably an idiot for trusting him.

Instinct tells him that Harry wouldn't do that, because all his accounts online are nothing but respectful. Maybe that's just because he didn't have the power he could potentially have, now. He already has Louis' personal phone number, which can cause so much damage.

Slowly, Louis feels panic settle over himself, and before he can really think, he's stopping the latest paragraph of storytelling, covering his phone with a pile of clothes, and stumbling towards Zayn's room, needing the outside opinion of someone who's always calm and collected.

Zayn's room is dark apart from the limited light coming from a bedside lamp. There's a book lying open on the covers as Zayn crawls back into bed, already dressed for sleep, and Louis feels a little bad for interrupting his private time, but then Zayn beckons him over and Louis climbs into bed too, sitting cross-legged on top of the sheets.

“What's wrong?” Zayn asks, attention solely on Louis.

“You remember Harry, right?” he starts, fiddling with the cuffs on his jumper nervously. Zayn nods. “He's... I mean, he's really nice and we've been talking a lot.” He falls silent, unsure of how to continue without making it sound too weird. Zayn's probably wondering why he has to go make friends with this random guy from Sweden when he already has so many.

“You're scared of trusting him, aren't you?” Zayn says quietly, putting words into Louis' mouth far more eloquently than he could have managed himself. “I felt the same when I started dating Perrie,” he goes on. “Liam's said the same thing.”

"I... wait, no, we're not..." Louis blushes, hoping the soft light source will hide him well enough. "That's not how this is. I'm not like that."

Zayn raises an eyebrow, and Louis instantly regrets his choice of words. He's sounding like an knob but Zayn mercifully lets it slide. "Is there any way you can see him again, check how he is in person?"

"I offered to get him tickets to the X Factor," Louis supplies helpfully.

Zayn chuckles. “Bribing. I like it.”

“I was just trying to be nice,” Louis grumbles.

“I know, I know,” Zayn tells him, sobering up and sighing a little. “The thing is,” he says seriously, “that you're never truly going to get any proof that he's not just using you. And it's the same for him, isn't it? He's a fan, he loves you, and you could just as easily use him.”

The words hit Louis in the chest with the force of a truck. He hadn't even considered Harry's perspective.

“But I don't think it's right,” Zayn continues, “to deny yourself things just because you're in a different situation than most. It's stuff like this that keeps us grounded, isn't it? Making friends and such. And when it comes to people, I think it's sometimes worth the risk. Like, most of the time you can tell if someone's genuine, if you just give them a chance.”

"He does seem pretty genuine," Louis admits, thinking back to the subtle references only he could understand. "Sometimes he says or does something that I know is for me, but there's no way anyone could piece it together." He knows that both of them know who Louis is really worried about noticing it, and the way Zayn nods confirms that he's relieved, too.

"I think you need to just let it play out, and do whatever you want to. You deserve a break, Lou. Me and Liam, we get to see our girlfriends quite often, but you're a bit unlucky."

“I'm not _dating_ him!” Louis insists firmly.

“I didn't even mean it like that, calm down,” Zayn tells him but there's a glimmer of amusement in his eye, like he's definitely enjoying riling Louis up.

“It's just nice to have someone who listens.”

He thinks about Eleanor then, because he just made it sound like she doesn't, but the truth is that she never was particularly invested in his career. Harry cares in a way only a fan can, like what Louis does is the most important thing in the world, and that's how Louis feels about it too. The band is his life, but Eleanor has so much else that comes before that. She has a course to finish, has her own life to live, and Louis respects that, but it's still a little difficult to deal with when other people's girlfriends come to visit them all the time. He needs to stop comparing his relationship to Zayn's or Liam's, because it always ends in needing to find a bar to get rid of the itching feeling that something isn't right.

"I feel like Harry gets what we're about, you know? He actually keeps up with our work and genuinely cares about our career."

"I guess it's nice to have direct contact with a fan to know how our stuff is affecting them," Zayn muses, smiling a little.

Louis doesn't like the idea of reducing Harry to just “a fan” as if he isn't his own person with his own life going on somewhere in the world, but he nods anyway because Zayn still gets it to a certain extent and he isn't being judgemental about it like he could have been.

“So you think I should keep talking to him?”

“If it makes you happy,” Zayn shrugs with a tired smile and it's really all the encouragement Louis needs. He might already miss him a little, but he's not going to tell Zayn that.

“Are you okay?” Harry has written when he sneaks back into his room, digging up his phone out carefully.

“Yeah, sorry,” he replies. “Had a little chat with Zayn.”

“Is Zayn alright?”

Louis smiles. Harry does genuinely seem like a good person.

“He's good. I just needed his opinion about something. Do you still want to hear about X Factor?”

“Of course! (:”

***

They fly to Rome next before returning home to London and Louis texts Harry every day, as often as he can. It's not that he feels an obligation to keep Harry happy, because he thinks he would be just as disappointed if they stopped talking as Harry would be, it's just that they always have so much to talk about and Louis feels like texting is such a slow and inaccurate way to get his thoughts across.

He's at home in his own flat when he finally musters up the courage to ask if Harry wants to make a Skype call, properly, so they can see and hear each other for the first time since the signing.

"Do you have a Skype account?" Louis asks, sending before he can talk himself out of it and nervously pacing around his flat while he waits for an answer.

"I do. (: It's bananaporn..."

Louis feels any hesitation fade away because really, that's the most absurd name he's ever encountered. Laughing, he searches the name and finds a photo of himself as the icon, a candid shot with Niall in the corner, both of them looking a little impish. It's not terribly flattering, so he does his best to ignore it, typing in "Harold, I wish to communicate with you" instead of the generic request to accept. It takes a few minutes for Harry to reply, and it doesn't escape Louis' attention that the profile picture changes to one of Harry himself, looking unfairly good with his long hair flowing and a small smile curving his lips. His eyes are so bloody green.

“Nice change of pic,” Louis writes.

“Sorry about that,” Harry replies immediately. “Didn't remember until I logged on.”

“That's alright. Suppose it could have been worse(: Can I call you up?”

“Sure,” comes the reply after several moments, a little too late for Louis' liking.

“We don't have to,” he hurries to type.

“No, I want to. I'm just nervous. You know my English isn't perfect.”

"If you want, I'll do all the talking. You can just give me the attention we all know I need." Louis smiles to himself, and nervously puts on the kettle, fixing up a cup of tea while Harry requests five minutes to "look presentable and find some decent lighting."

Pressing the call button is more terrifying than stepping out onto the stage, but he somehow manages it, curled up into the corner of his sofa with the laptop next to him. When the call goes through, Louis is faced with a moving image as the screen is adjusted, Harry smiling apologetically.

"Didn't know if it was aimed right," he explains.

“Well, it's good now,” Louis smiles, noticing a poster in the background that is undoubtedly of his own face. “Is that me?” he asks, and watches with amusement as Harry scrambles to turn the screen away, going deep red in a matter of seconds.

“So sorry,” he mumbles and Louis laughs. Harry is adorable.

“It's fine,” he reassures him. “Better than your icon.”

Harry looks even more embarrassed but he laughs a little, sweeping his fringe out of his eyes and settling with his face close to the screen. “Are you at home?” he asks.

“Yeah, this is me very own flat,” Louis nods. “Nice to be back in London for a bit. Do you have your own place?”

“No,” Harry shakes his head. “I live with my mum and dad. It's difficult to get flats here. You have to sign up and wait in a queue for years.”

“Really?” Louis asks incredulously. “That sucks.”

“Yeah, well, I like my family so it's not so bad,” Harry smiles, still looking a little embarrassed. “And the location is good. Really close to the centre of town.”

Louis has no idea why Harry is so worried about his English when it's clear his grammar is probably better than Louis' own. He does have a thick accent, but Louis likes it and Harry's voice is slow and soothing.

"Has it always been just you and your parents?" Louis asks, thinking of his own family back in Donny, of how big it's getting.

"I have a sister, but she's got her own place, now." Harry seems to light up, affection clear on his face. "She's like my best friend."

Louis gets that, definitely. "Sounds like you have a decent life, Harold." He's about to ask about other parts of his life, but there's a voice calling on Harry's side of the line, some strange version of his name, and if Harry was starting to return to his natural pale skin tone, all hope is now lost.

“Ja?” Harry replies, looking back at the screen before moving the laptop quickly, pulling it onto his lap.

Louis hears a door open, a female voice chatting away quickly in a language Louis doesn't understand.

“Ingen,” Harry says, and then, “Nej! Gå iväg!”

The woman says something else and Harry tells her, “Bara en kompis,” looking flustered and making shooing motions with his hands. “Vi kan prata sen. Okej, tack.”

The door shuts and Harry immediately presses his hands against his face, peeking at Louis through his fingers.

“So sorry about that.”

Louis' quiet for exactly two seconds before he exclaims, “Harry!” in his best Swedish, high pitched voice, and the laugh that erupts from Harry's throat is the most delightful thing Louis' ever heard. Trying to roll the Rs is a lot of fun, so he does it again, softer, getting used to the name on his tongue and loving how different it is. It stops Harry from looking mortified, at least, so he decides it's worth it. Instead, he looks fascinated, like he'd never considered Louis actually saying his name.

"Who was that, then? Your mum?" Louis moves on, taking an innocent sip of his tea like he hadn't just watched Harry get embarrassed and then likely made his day.

Harry nods, staring at the door regretfully. "She just sort of walks in."

“Mine does that too,” Louis assures him. “And my sisters. She was implying that you had a girl on the line, wasn't she?”

“A boy, but yeah,” Harry shrugs with a smile. “Basically.”

Louis feels his smile slip just a fraction as he takes in Harry's words. “Oh,” he says. “So you're...” He almost cringes at the words coming out of his mouth. Why does he even need to question it?

“Yes,” Harry nods, unphased by the looks of it.

“And your family know?”

“Sure.”

Louis nods, distracting himself with his tea for a few seconds to let it sink in. He shouldn't even be surprised. Harry's a proper adult, spending time at One Direction concerts and signings, alone. They've got a massive LGBT+ following, and he's not oblivious to it. Before, he would maybe have been a little uncomfortable, because he's Harry's favourite, and that could mean so many things, but instead he feels warm, even pleased. It's somehow different from all the girls screaming his name and clearly favouring him, because he respects Harry's opinion, and knows how lucky he is to be getting his attention.

“So do you have, like, a boyfriend?” Louis asks before the silence has time to stretch on.

“No,” Harry shakes his head. “Not anymore.”

Louis' silent again, nodding slightly in understanding and feeling an odd mix of apprehension and excitement, but he doesn't know why. Harry tilts his head, peering at him through the screen.

“Are you alright?” he asks, and Louis realises he's being weird. He needs to stop this immediately.

“Yeah, of course,” he tells him with a determined smile.

“Speaking of which, how's Eleanor?”

Harry's only being nice, and friendly, but the question makes Louis squirm uncomfortably in his seat.

"Um, good, I think. We don't get to talk much. She's busy." He doesn't mention that despite having trouble keeping track of things with Eleanor, he manages to talk to Harry near constantly, and is even finding time to call him on Skype. "Uni stuff, you know. Well, I don't. But she seems to be doing okay."

Harry nods, not calling Louis out on his shit, and it's a relief. "Is she dealing okay with all the bad things people say? I imagine it's hard sometimes."

Louis nods, appreciating that Harry seems to genuinely care about it. "Yeah, we get by. She's pretty tough."

“I guess you get to hear a lot of bad stuff as well.” Harry looks so concerned and _sad_ at that, like he can't for the life of him understand why people would say bad things about Louis, that he can't help but smile somewhat ruefully.

“It's alright,” he reassures him. “I try not to listen to that, and we have so much support that it more than makes up for it, don't worry.”

Harry nods, looking thoughtful. “I think you're really tough too,” he says then, slow and serious. “Before the X Factor, I mean, things weren't always going your way and you came into the competition with such... humility, but you didn't give up. You just kept going. I mean,” he adds, looking a bit flustered again, “it's not like I know anything about that really but-”

“Hey, it's okay,” Louis interrupts him. “I'm sure you know enough to draw realistic conclusions. You don't have to feel bad for knowing things about me that anyone could have found out if they wanted to.” Harry nods shyly. “Thanks,” Louis tells him, and means it. “For saying that.”

"Thanks for not giving up," Harry counters, and it sounds so sincere, as if Louis has made such a massive impact on his life just by going through the X Factor. The other boys would have made it, he's sure. And Harry would still have them to look up to.

"If you don't mind me asking," Louis smiles weakly, trying to look like he's not fishing for compliments, "what is it that caught your eye, about the band?"

“Well, if you don't mind me saying,” Harry counters. “You.”

Louis doesn't think he's ever blushed so hard in his life but luckily he's spared having to reply as Harry happily goes on.

“I watched the X-Factor the year you were on. I was only sixteen but, like, I was already really interested in English culture and stuff so I made my mum get us all the English TV channels. I remember your first audition.” Harry laughs a little and Louis squirms. “I remember liking your voice a lot, and then you got put into a band and I was so sure you were going to make it. You just brought so much energy into it, like, lifting the mood, and a lot of people kept saying you didn't sing enough and stuff but I always thought you made the biggest difference.”

Louis belatedly wishes he'd recorded that, because he's never going to stop needing to hear it.

"That's really nice of you," he smiles, shifting a little in his seat. He flicks his hair in attempt to hide his blush a little more, but there's no hiding the smile on his face, he can see that much from his small screen in the corner of the laptop. "I was shit when we started out. Still am, really."

"No, you're brilliant," Harry argues immediately, eyes bright with intent. "Your voice is... it's so powerful, so full of emotion." Louis desperately wishes he'd met the boy sooner, because this is exactly the kind of talk he doesn't get from his friends.

“Really?” he asks weakly.

“Yeah, of course,” Harry says as if it costs nothing for him to be this kind. “And I always like the songs you write the best. They're really honest, and sort of self-deprecating, which means you can really relate. You're really talented, Louis. I'm just so glad you found a forum where you're allowed to express yourself. It means so much to so many people.”

Louis has finally been rendered speechless. Maybe this is why it's not advised to get too close to the fans; it's addictive, to hear such unadulterated flattery. And Louis doesn't want to believe that Harry's saying it because he's looking to gain something. He doesn't want to believe that Harry can be manipulative.

"You're just saying that," he tries, "can you... Could you say something about the others? Zayn, maybe." Anything to draw the attention from himself, because otherwise he might start crying.

Harry doesn't seem to notice, lighting up at the chance and starting off with how amazing his harmonies are. Louis gets a distinct impression quite fast that nobody else lets Harry talk about the boys, and it's almost sad that the only outlet he has is a member of the band themselves. But it's nice, to hear that there are so many people out there who truly appreciate what Zayn brings into the sound, beyond his stunning looks. Harry moves on to Liam and Niall, even to their musicians, as if he can just tell that Louis needs a rare break from the spotlight. He's so considerate that Louis can't imagine a world where Harry broke up with his last boyfriend because of his own mistakes. The other boy must have wronged him in a bad way, because from what he can tell, Harry tries to understand where everybody is coming from at all times.

It's safe, to have Harry do all the talking, and probably smart too since Louis can't really afford to make a huge mistake with this, but when Harry starts asking questions again Louis wants to answer them as best as he can even if there are things he knows he can't tell Harry, at least not yet. _Not until I know for sure_ , he keeps telling himself, suddenly desperate to see Harry in real life again, to really _know_ him.

“So about the X Factor finale...” Louis starts once there's a lull in the conversation. “Still interested?”

“Yeah!” Harry lights up. “I asked for the weekend off of work. I should be able to stay for one night, if I can find a cheap hostel or something.”

“You could stay with me,” Louis says before he has time to think it through. Harry just stares at him, frozen in place on his side of the screen.

They keep staring at each other, Louis hoping Harry will start talking again, wondering vaguely if the connection has stilled the screen, and considering just closing his laptop. Maybe throwing it out of the window.

"Isn't... Wouldn't you get in trouble?" Harry starts, talking slower than usual, as if checking he doesn't break the moment or ruin things.

"Why would I? Stan stays with me all the time, you could be an old friend. Besides, I'm an adult, with spare rooms and everything."

"How's your kitchen?" Harry asks in return, and it throws Louis enough to make him smile a bit, looking lost.

"Um... Big? Unused and under appreciated?"

"I'm in." The smile Harry gives definitely makes up for Louis' accidental outburst. "I want to cook you something, something really good. Maybe a Swedish dish."

“You cook?” Louis asks bewildered, feeling like he's barely able to keep up with the conversation anymore.

“I cook for a living,” Harry smiles, “and before you say it, yes, we do make the hamburgers ourselves. They don't just come in neat little boxes.”

“Huh,” Louis says. “There's something strangely impressive about knowing you make actual Big Macs. With your hands.”

Harry laughs, loud and honest and wonderful. Louis just can't make himself regret his life choices.

They finish up the call when Harry's mum makes another appearance, and Louis is informed that dinner's being served up. It's a natural way to end, and better than talking to fill silence when it gets late and they don't know how to end the call.

Just before he hangs up, Harry gives Louis a wide grin, almost seeming to glow, and talks quietly. "Thank you, Louis."

"Thanks for talking," Louis responds honestly, still smiling when the screen goes black. Talking with Harry had been so easy, like they'd known each other for months rather than days, and he can't wait for another call.

***

They fly to Spain and back again to the UK, performing at the BBC Music Awards and receiving an award for breaking the record _again_ , with their fourth album reaching number one in America just like the previous three. It's too much to wrap his head around, too much to even try to take in, and Louis feels like he's waking up every morning in a bit of a haze because his life never stops being completely surreal. He talks a lot to his family on the phone, but most of all he talks to Harry because Harry keeps him grounded like no one else can. Eleanor calls once but they don't get much time to talk before she has to attend a society meeting that takes priority. Louis isn't as disappointed as he maybe should be.

He doesn't voice how things are going with Eleanor to anyone else, partly because he isn't sure what to call whatever's happening. If things are the same as they have been for a while, then it's hardly news.

Harry is understanding when Louis falls asleep in the middle of a conversation because he's been travelling too much to keep a proper sleeping schedule with the country he's in, sometimes even typing nonsense letters in return when Louis sends things his phone assumed he meant as he passed out. Although he isn't with them in the band, Louis feels like Harry still gets it on a personal level. None of his friends or family are so thoroughly invested in the journey, so Harry may as well be directly by his side, asking weirdly specific questions like "what does Donny smell like in Autumn" that make no sense and require a lot of consideration to answer.

It's nice and it's comforting, to always have someone to talk to and who listens, and Louis thinks he's way past cautious considering the things he's let slip in the dark hours of the night when he's half asleep and they're able to pretend that it's just the two of them left in the world. But Harry still hasn't told anyone about Louis, and his twitter remains respectfully admiring, as if from a distance. Louis doesn't want to question it, so he doesn't, and they still have the weekend to look forward to.

The day Harry arrives in London, Louis' too busy to meet up with him before their performance. He's forwarded the ticket and told Harry to wait in the parking lot afterwards so Louis' driver can come pick him up. No one knows anything. He hasn't even told Zayn that he actually followed through on the offer and he doesn't dare mention that he invited Harry to stay over for the night. Zayn would undoubtedly get the wrong idea, and he'd lecture Louis on all sort of things he doesn't want to hear, and then his and Harry's evening would be completely ruined despite how much they've been looking forward to it.

So he doesn't tell anyone, and he hopes to God that his plan will go off without a hitch.

He looks around while they're performing, scanning the area he knows Harry's seat to be in, and finds him singing along mercilessly near the front seats, practically dancing on the spot and ignoring everybody else. They catch eyes for a moment, until the lights turn to Louis and he's blinded into looking away. But that's enough for the show, and when everyone breaks off afterwards to go home, Louis is bouncing with energy, climbing into his car enthusiastically and telling the driver where to go. There are no questions, thankfully, and when the tinted car pulls into the area he's meeting Harry, Louis rolls down a window and hangs out of it, beckoning Harry over from where he's watching the car warily.

"Hey, Curly!" he calls, grinning.

Harry's face goes from scared to beaming in a split second as he shuffles over, climbing into the back seat to sit beside Louis. His hair's spilling out from under a blue beanie, a thick winter coat covering most of his grey jumper, black tight jeans hugging his legs. He looks grungy, and cool, and Louis wonders if everyone in Sweden dresses this well or if Harry's just naturally beautiful like that. Belatedly, he realises it's an odd thought to have but Harry's still grinning at him, arranging his little backpack on the floor by his feet as they pull onto the main road towards Louis' house.

Few people know where he actually lives and Louis' nervous as hell about letting Harry in on the secret, but for now he allows himself to trust that it will be alright.

"Is that all you have?" he asks, gesturing to the little bag and trying not to laugh at how absurdly small it looks next to Harry's lanky body.

"I was going to take the chance to get some shirts one the way back tomorrow. It's less expensive here," Harry admits, eyes still bright. "You were amazing, Lou."

Any attempts to steer the conversation away from him to begin with are apparently lost, so Louis just blushes and nods a bit. "Yeah, well. I'm nothing without my band."

The car pulls to a stop, and Louis leans over to thank the driver, telling him to have a good night, and climbs out, waiting for Harry to get his bearings before heading to the road he lives on. "I don't really get guests too much,” he admits. “Hope it's okay."

There hadn't even really been time to tidy up, so there's still cups in the sink and pillows carelessly thrown across the couch. Playstation games are littering the floor in the living room along with a few empty pizza boxes and Louis only now realises that he hasn't cleaned his bathroom in months which causes a spike of cold anxiety to stab at his chest as he watches Harry take his shoes off promptly before walking down the hallway.

He doesn't comment on the mess and Louis didn't think he would, but he doesn't seem to mind it at all as he wanders wide eyed from room to room, circling the bottom floor while Louis just stands uselessly to the side.

“Wanna see upstairs too?” he asks awkwardly when Harry comes back, and proceeds to lead him upstairs when he gets a nod in return.

Louis' place isn't _that_ big since he's only one person, but the upper floor really is quite empty except for his bedroom with a balcony facing the heart of London, Big Ben and London Eye visible on the horizon. Harry opens the door and steps out into the cold winter air, leaning against the railing to look down at the street below.

When he turns to smile at Louis, the glow from inside lights up his whole face, wind ruffling his hair and staining his cheeks pink.

"What do you think?" Louis asks, smiling hesitantly just to see Harry laugh as if he's made a brilliant joke.

"It's great," Harry smiles, seemingly drawn between looking out over the view and looking into the room they left. "I wish my place was more like this."

"What's your place like, then?"

"Less games, less pizza. Boring view," Harry shrugs. "This is exotic."

Louis doesn't have the heart to point out that Harry's the most exotic thing he's ever met, let alone had in his house.

They go back downstairs next because Harry is adamant about that meal he promised to cook and Louis feels somewhat out of place in the spacious kitchen, busying himself with making tea while Harry rummages through his fridge and cupboards.

“What's this?” he asks and holds up a jar of Marmite in front of Louis, probably one of about three items in there.

“It's Marmite,” he supplies unhelpfully.

“Yeah, but what do you do with it?”

“Um... You can have it on your toast?” He watches amusedly as Harry opens the lid and smells it only to pull his head back with a grimace. “Yeah, you either love it or hate it,” Louis laughs a little breathlessly. It feels strangely intimate to have Harry searching through his food.

"That's weird," he announces, heading for the fridge. Seconds later, he makes an excited sound, and picks up the bottle of mayonnaise. "We don't have the proper stuff. It tastes weird."

Louis decides it's cute, seeing Harry get all mystified over English cupboards. "If you like what little is in my kitchen, you'll love supermarkets."

It's honestly like he's just announced that it's secretly Christmas, the way Harry's eyes widen in fascination. "I'd love to see a shopping place here. There's nothing that I can use in your kitchen," he pauses then, wincing slightly, "sorry, that sounded rude."

"You lasted five minutes without saying sorry, I'm impressed!"

“I say sorry a lot?”

“Only about every other sentence or so.” Harry blushes and Louis feels himself relax. Banter is something he can do, definitely.

But Harry doesn't give him a witty comeback and Louis realises that Harry's not like the lads where he can just take the piss mercilessly and without consideration. Harry is a guest in his home and has supported him selflessly for four years and he's from another country, another culture where maybe it isn't okay to make fun of your friends to show them you like them.

“Hey, it's good to be polite,” Louis tells him quickly. “Very English of you. Now, there's a Tescos just down the road if you want to go get groceries. I can give you some money-”

“No, no,” Harry interrupts him. “This is supposed to be my way of saying thank you for the ticket and everything. I'll pay for it. Are you not coming with me?”

“I can't,” Louis says, and it's his turn to blush because it sounds like he doesn't want to be seen with Harry but it's not like that at all. It's just that it would look so awfully domestic if they were seen shopping for food together and even if no one would recognise Harry it's still a risk. Louis orders his groceries online for a reason.

"It's late, come on. You get seen out with Stan a lot, and you've got a stable girlfriend so there won't be any rumours. We might not even get noticed, if you borrow my jacket or something." Harry walks over, looking hopeful. "I don't know how English money works so well, or what the English names for some of the things I need are, so I need backup."

The argument is pretty sound, and Louis doesn't want to miss out on any time he could spend with Harry, so he reluctantly changes into sweats and steals Harry's jumper, even if it's practically drowning him.

Harry seems content in a barely buttoned up pale shirt and his coat, claiming it's colder in Sweden, so English weather is easy to deal with.

Just before they step out through the door, Harry pulls his blue beanie off and puts it on Louis' head, rearranging his fringe carefully so it will cover most of Louis' face. It's a moment that seems to drag out, Harry's long fingers brushing Louis' temple as they tuck the hair away, and they're both quiet, smiling slightly at each other as they finally walk out onto the street.

Harry's hair looks silly, all pushed flat against his head from the beanie, but he seems pleased when Louis laughs in sympathy and him ruffle it back to life for him.

The walk isn't far, but it seems like even less once Harry starts trying to name things he can see, asking Louis to correct his intonation. It's like a kid learning to speak, and it's impossible not to be charmed.

"Can you teach me some? What's house?" Louis asks, eager to swap cultures a little. Sweden's barely something he learnt about, anyway. He's not sure he knew where it was until he actually looked it up a few weeks ago. Everywhere gets blurred on tour, the constant moves playing havoc with his limited geographical skills.

“Hus,” Harry tells him and it sounds similar but with a strange vowel sound Louis can't replicate even if he tries. Harry laughs at him before pointing at a car. “Bil,” he says with another weird vowel, looking at Louis expectantly.

“Beal,” Louis tries and Harry laughs again, that loud and free one that makes his whole face light up.

“Stop laughing at me!”

“I'm laughing with you!” Harry tries to reassure him and seems to be unable to stop when Louis pouts, saying “beal” and “hoos” again just to humour him.

"Yeah, well, we can't all be bilingual," Louis sulks, digging his hands into his pockets and lowering his head as they get into the shop until they're past the workers and alone in the aisles. "So what do you need, Harold?" He picks up various pots of soup, looking them over and putting them back down. "What do people eat in Sweden if you don't have Marmite?"

"Real food," Harry mutters, going back to pick up a basket and reaching for a crumpled list of items Louis can't even begin to read. They're actually shopping together, from a written list. It's the most domestic thing Louis' done in his life.

In the end, Harry's picked out a basket full off healthy looking things, Louis' chosen three different types of cakes for desert, and they're finally queuing to pay for it. And that's when Louis hears his own name being spoken from somewhere behind him and he turns to see two awestruck girls gape at them.

“Louis...” one of them whines and clutches at her friend.

“Hi,” Louis says awkwardly, all too aware of Harry by his side with a basket of dinner food hanging from his arm.

“Are you home already?” the second girl asks. “We saw your performance, it was amazing!”

“Thanks, yeah, just having a quiet night in.”

“This your friend?”

“Hi, I'm Harry,” Harry introduces himself, actually reaching out to shake the girls' hands.

The girls stare at Harry, clearly struck by him and confused by his accent, but they quickly recover and focus on Louis again, babbling about the performance, saying it was maybe the best they've ever done. Louis soaks up the affection, signing some things for them and asking kind questions about their favourite songs, how they got into the band, to make the signature more personal. At some point, Harry goes from watching with obvious adoration to vanishing elsewhere, and Louis isn't sure how to deal with that. He didn't look at all upset though.

Harry finally catches up with him again when Louis' made it to the self check out and is bagging his cakes with utmost care. He smiles and looks a little breathless as he hands Louis his basket.

“Could you show me?” he asks.

“Show you what?”

“How to do this.”

“The self check out? You've never done it before?”

Harry shakes his head sheepishly. “Not really.”

Louis looks into the basket. “Wine?” he grins, feeling his face heat up a little for no reason. “What's this then?”

“I don't know,” Harry admits. “I don't know anything about wine but this one is sweet. I got a red as well because I don't know what you like.”

Louis smiles, not wanting to laugh because Harry might take it badly, but it's such a sweet gesture.

Harry's items all mount up once he gets the hang on finding the bar code and carefully scanning it in, and his eyebrows raise in surprise.

"Is it too much?" Louis' completely ready to lend a hand, but Harry just grins instead.

"No, it's brilliant. Things are a lot cheaper here."

“Really? Why would you ever want to live in Sweden then?”

Harry laughs and picks up the bags, letting Louis carry the cakes. “Because I make a lot more in Sweden than I would here,” he smiles and Louis smiles back, even through the sudden discomfort brought on by talking about money.

The first thing Harry does when they get home is to find Louis' finest wine glasses. Louis sits on the counter and lets Harry pour two generous glasses without commenting because he needs something to take the edge off. He didn't realise until now how wound up he is with nerves because of Harry's soft beanie still sitting on his head and all the things he still wants to say to him but doesn't know how. The wine is sticky sweet and strong but it pools smoothly on his tongue and Harry looks at home, right there in Louis' kitchen. He doesn't think there's anywhere else he'd rather be.

Eventually, Louis works up the courage to start a conversation, asking about other bands Harry is into, and it's nice to hear him talk about bands Louis has heard of as well as a few Swedish ones. Somehow, they get to talking about Swedish Idol, and Harry gets a look in his eyes as he discusses a singer he had a crush on when he was younger.

Music talent shows are a good middle ground for them both, and it gives them a lot to talk about, with Harry having plenty to say about the X Factor from the view of someone who didn't grow up with it, and Louis' experience at the Idol performance. The wine seems to have a positive effect on Harry too as he stops second guessing himself when he talks, stops searching for words and going with the ones he finds, throwing in some Swedish here and there for Louis to guess at when he needs his help.

The meal he cooks is a dish Louis' had before in Sweden but it's a lot better than he can remember, with loads of creamy sauce and fresh salad. They sit at the kitchen island, facing each other and giggling into their plates as they get even tipsier on the wine. They've already finished the second bottle, moving onto some expensive and sophisticated stuff Louis had lying around in a cupboard by the time they pull out the cakes.

He's supposed to cut off a reasonable slice and hand it to Harry, but somewhere along the line Louis ends up just eating directly from the complete cake on the counter, and Harry comes over to see what he's doing, giggling and going directly for the cutlery drawer to pick up a spoon and dig in.

All three cakes go with them and the wine, through to the living room, one on the table and one in each lap as they mix the flavours, and Louis gets the feeling that if they were in a different life, they could be best friends. Harry isn't the kind of person you only want as a peer, he's someone you want to impress and claim for your own even if you don't get much time, and Louis gets lost in how attentive Harry is, even when edging towards drunk rather than tipsy.

“Tell me about your tattoos,” Louis demands, pointing with his spoon at Harry's left arm that's littered, much like Louis' right one.

“Um...” Harry says slowly as he looks down at himself. “The full stories?”

“Yeah, all of it.”

“Okay,” Harry nods solemnly, pausing to think for a moment. “This is the first one I got,” he says after a bit, turning his wrist up to show the words “I can't change” written across it. Automatically, Louis turns his own wrist up where he's got the quote marks, holding it out next to Harry's. “Yeah...” Harry mumbles, “I might have been inspired. Empty quote marks suggest something meaningful that you're not allowed to say aloud, so I sort of went with it.”

Louis should probably feel weird about it, since it means they've sort of got matching tattoos, but all he can think about is how right Harry is in his argument and how much he wants to know what it _means_.

“So it's a meaningful one?”

“Yeah, I mostly meant that I can't stop being gay, and everything that comes with it.”

Louis nods thoughtfully, humming as he considers the powerful words. "That's very deep, Harold," he allows.

"Not massively," Harry laughs, "but thank you."

Louis reaches out, gently poking at Harry's wrist to make him twist and show off the rest of the tattoos. "Is that a handbag?"

“Yes,” Harry nods before he breaks down into giggles. “It was supposed to be a lock! My friend Ed did it and it was one of his first. He's better now though,” he smiles. “He's done almost all of the rest.”

“Your anchor is where my rope is,” Louis points out, almost like a challenge.

“I know, but it wasn't for you, I promise,” Harry explains flustered. “I mean, it's a grounding thing.”

“Mine's the opposite,” Louis admits, looking down at the rope circling the outside of his wrist.

“Like... Like a tied up thing?”

Louis nods, because of course Harry gets it. He's been with them on the journey. He shifts a little closer, reaching out to examine the rope closer. "Because your team doesn't let you all be how you want?"

"A bit, yeah," Louis shrugs, "I don't even know who's running my account half the time."

"Neither do we," Harry reminds him. "You gave everyone a few scares, but things are settling a bit more, now." It's scary when Harry is suddenly a spokesperson for the entire fanbase, and if it were anyone else, Louis would be concerned about the power going to his head. Harry takes it well, though, not trying to drag anything out of Louis or push any ideas on. He's just quietly attentive, and doesn't talk about anything the fans think unless Louis asks.

“This one was sort of for you though,” Harry murmurs and pushes up the sleeve on his shirt to show off an authentic 18th century English ship, painted in great detail on his upper arm. “I got it shortly after you got the compass. It's about finding my way home when I get lost.”

“As is mine,” Louis replies, eyes still on Harry's skin. “If it wasn't obvious.”

Harry giggles a little. “But you know what?” he says, eyes sparkling when Louis looks up. “I got this,” he points at the anatomical heart on the inside of his upper arm, “before you got the arrow. And I got the rose here long before you got the dagger. And the Joker, here, before you got the suits.”

Louis takes them all in, their style and placement, before he lets his eyes go a little wide, head fuzzy with the implications. “That's really bloody creepy,” he breathes out.

“I know,” Harry agrees, reaching for his glass as if needing to calm himself a little.

Louis reaches for his own glass, needing it to distract himself from aligning their arms and playing "spot the difference", because he's fairly sure nobody is supposed to be that coordinated when they're not life partners, even if Harry didn't strictly get them for Louis.

"So your friend, Ed," Louis tries, feeling a little lost, "What's he like?"

"Um... Nice, I guess. Quiet, like me. Moved over from England, so he lets me practice my English."

“Where's he from?”

“Suffolk.”

Louis makes a sound around his sip of wine but doesn't know how to continue when all he wants is too see more of those vague inky shapes he's seen on Harry's chest and stomach. His shirt is unbuttoned a fair share and it wouldn't take much to open it fully, just a few buttons and everything would be on display.

“Wanna see them?” Harry asks, pulling Louis out of his thoughts and he realises he must have been looking because Harry's suddenly doing exactly what he was wishing, parting his shirt to reveal two swallows on his chest, a massive butterfly beneath and two leaves stretching up from the waistband of his jeans. He's smiling but Louis only notices from the corner of his eye as his main focus is on Harry's skin, pale and smooth under the black ink.

“What are these?” Louis asks and touches a dark spot some way below Harry's nipple. There's a similar one on the other side of his chest too.

“Extra nipples,” Harry tells him.

Louis chokes on a laugh, because that's so typical Harry, to have something like that. "I've only got the two," he shrugs, poking at the extra dark spots and wondering idly if they have any sensitivity.

"Most people only have the two. Makes you more normal than me," Harry smiles, clearly not meaning it. He looks down at himself, gesturing to the butterfly. "I really like butterflies, obviously. The whole reinventing process of what they become, how much hope they give. Um, the birds were pretty..."

"They don't match," Louis laughs, reaching out to trace the butterfly with the tip of a finger.

"Ed wasn't good at mirroring yet..."

“I like it.”

Harry smiles wide, gaze dropping to Louis' chest that's still covered in Harry's jumper.

“Gonna show me It Is What It Is?” he asks, leaning in a little closer so Louis' whole palm is pressed against his ribs.

“You've already seen it.”

“But not up close in real life.”

Louis hesitates, retracting his hand and fiddling with the hem of the jumper. To show the whole tattoo he'd have to take his t-shirt off.

It takes a few seconds of deliberation, but Harry smiles so gently and seems so respectful that Louis can't find a good reason to say no. Sitting up a little and putting his cake on the table, he takes hold of the material at his waist again and tugs it over his head, dropping the bundle back into his lap, hiding his stomach behind it in what hopefully passes as a casual action.

Harry looks over the tattoo admiringly, expression wavering on fond, and scoots closer to get a better look.

“It's my favourite,” he mumbles, so close now that Louis can feel his breath on his face, sweet and sugary from cake and wine.

Harry's looking at the tattoo but Louis' eyes are on Harry, his long eyelashes and clear eyes, his lips, stained red and shiny, curving at the corners when he smiles.

It only takes one second of courage, one moment of forgetfulness, and Louis' leaning in, pressing his lips to Harry's and tasting the grapes and chocolate, the warmth of his breath curling on his tongue, before he remembers and opens his eyes.

Harry stays close, only separating enough to catch Louis' eye and get his breath back. The smiles are gone, replaced by wariness.

"Is this... What is this?" he asks quietly, like if he talks any louder then the moment will vanish. "Is this real for you?"

Louis wishes he had a good answer, because this isn't supposed to feel good. He didn't mean to lean in and do something like that, something that felt so normal and never really has before.

“I didn't mean to...” he tries. “It's not.... Something I do.”

“So it's not-”

“I liked it,” Louis blurts. “I mean I like you, I... I don't want to take advantage.”

Harry doesn't answer. He kisses him instead.

Louis' a little drunk, a little overwhelmed, a little terrified of the world and his place in it but Harry makes all of that fade when he cups Louis' face and licks into his mouth. He kisses so good and Louis hasn't been kissed for months, can't even remember the last time he had sex and he's _starved_. It's not his fault that his body goes pliant when Harry presses close, heat surging in his gut when the kiss deepens and Harry's hand drifts down his chest, under the jumble of shirts still balled up in Louis' lap.

“You're hard,” Harry breathes into his mouth, only worsening the situation with how much it turns Louis on to know that he noticed.

He can't exactly deny it, so Louis just whimpers in agreement, hips tilting up towards Harry's hand because he has no idea how he's supposed to deal with it alone, and that's supposed to be something Harry understands.

He expects maybe some palming, maybe Harry pushing under Louis' sweats, but the last thing Louis is ready for is Harry shifting, sliding down and off the seat to the floor, positioning himself on his knees and looking up at Louis with dark eyes and damp lips.

"I can help with that," he murmurs, somehow even lower than usual, "if you want."

Louis can't speak, mouth too dry and head swimming, but he nods and watches Harry pull his joggers down just enough to free him.

He doesn't hesitate, doesn't even look wary as he opens his mouth and wraps his lips around the head, sucking delicately. Louis moans, reaching for Harry's hair and trying to keep his hips from stuttering by pulling on it, causing Harry to groan and take him deeper. Louis can hear the sound of Harry's fly, can see the muscles in Harry's arm flexing as he touches himself, and it's almost too much to deal with when he's this worked up, afraid he's going to come far too soon for it to even be considered a blowjob.

Harry's free hand reaches up to smooth over Louis' hip, tugging gently, and the sign that he could move if he wants, could just let his waist tremble, it's such an overwhelmingly arousing thought that it takes all his attention to keep steady, breathing shakily and watching how Harry's lips move around him, stained red like lipstick and so pretty because of it.

Louis thinks he's doing fine for someone involved in a surprisingly hot sexual encounter, but then Harry looks up at him, wide eyes with only a hint left of the green surrounded by blushing skin, and it's beautiful in a way that boys are not supposed to be, but that makes it all the more intoxicating.

“Harry,” Louis breathes urgently, tugging at his hair. “I'm gonna come, babe, stop.”

But Harry doesn't stop, and there's only so much Louis can do when his muscles tense and he loses track of his breathing, head falling back against the couch as he cries out.

Vaguely, he can hear Harry moaning around him, sucking him until he's spent before he pops off and Louis opens his eyes blearily, meeting Harry's gaze. He's licking his lips, blinking dazedly where he's still crouched between Louis' legs, one arm resting over his knee.

“Did you..?” Louis asks, voice raspy and weak.

Harry nods slowly and Louis watches him swallow, adam's apple moving up and down his throat.

Louis has no idea what to say.

Reaching out, he tries to coax Harry back up to his side, amazed when he follows wordlessly, crawling onto the couch in a mess of long limbs and contented sighs until he's next to Louis, nuzzling into his neck gently. For a moment, Louis loses himself in the afterglow, skin still tingling and mind quiet, but he can't ignore the implications forever.

"Harry..."

"Ja?" Harry mumbles, soft as a kitten where he rests against Louis, sounding like the food, wine and orgasm have dragged him towards sleep.

"Haz, don't fall asleep on me, yeah? We need to get up..."

"Okej," Harry nods and sits up, yawning.

"I'll show you to your room, okay?" Louis rasps out, trying to ignore the way Harry's eyebrows draw together in an almost undetectable frown.

They walk up the stairs, Louis grabbing Harry's backpack for him on the way, pressing it into his hands when they stop outside the room two doors from Louis' bedroom.

"My driver will pick you up tomorrow morning," he almost whispers, waiting for Harry to properly grab the bag between them.

"Louis," Harry breathes, like he wants to say something but no words are coming out of his mouth. Louis' just looking at their hands, waiting.

And then Harry leans in and wraps his arms around Louis' shoulders, holding him there for a beat, solid and warm where Louis feels like he's drifting. "Godnatt," Harry whispers against his ear, finally taking the offered backpack when he pulls back.

"'Night," Louis manages, voice weak in the quiet as Harry pushes open the door to his room.

He stays by the door right up until Harry pushes it closed, already turning away and reaching to pull his shirt from his shoulders. Being suddenly left alone is verging on overwhelming, threatening to make him think properly about what just happened, so Louis tries to ignore it, heading to his own room and directly to the en suite bathroom to take a shower and relax his tensed muscles. Already, he can tell that sleep will be difficult, if it's even slightly possible to get hold of.

No amount of new positions or angles is enough once he climbs into bed, and even if his body is tired, his mind is racing with questions that he can't touch yet, not while he has a guest in the house and places to be tomorrow. This is an incredibly inconvenient time for a meltdown, he tells himself, and it almost works to block things out and make them seem less of an issue than they are.

It still takes him hours to fall asleep though, and he wakes with a dull ache behind his eyes and dread growing in his mind.

Harry walks into the kitchen mere minutes before he has to leave. Louis doesn't try to figure out his reasons, and it is with difficulty that he meets his eyes.

"Your car's here," Louis says, fingers wrapped tightly around his mug of tea that he's been sipping at for the past half hour. Harry has his rucksack hoisted over one shoulder, beanie in place to hide his messy curls, and he's so beautiful Louis wants to cry.

"Thanks for having me," he says in his broken English, looking suddenly out of place in Louis' big kitchen.

"Of course," he tries to smile but his whole face feels stiff. Harry moves, and catches Louis around the shoulders, squeezing him carefully where he's sat awkwardly on a bar stool, still shorter than Harry by several inches. He smells like sleep and foreign lands, and Louis still wants to cry.

Harry stays long enough to have a glass of water and wash up his glass again - something Louis can never make himself do - and slowly makes his way out of the door. The air between them is thick with so much that they need to talk about but he can't find it in himself to even start. There's no time, after all.

During the next hour, before he has to head off to the airport himself, Louis works hard to ignore the itch under his skin, the want to check his phone and wish Harry a safe flight. They can't carry on as if nothing happened.

But he doesn't know how to carry on _as if_ something happened, so he doesn't text Harry, and when his car finally pulls up outside the house he hasn't heard anything from Harry either.

The boys all turn up in different cars, being herded onto the private jet. Zayn takes the seat next to Louis' and they sit in silence as the plane takes off, watching London grow small beneath them.

Louis can't sit still, and knowing they have a long flight, confined to this space, doesn't help either.

He's in the fourth attempt to get comfortable in their luxury seats, twitching in attempt to dispel the physical weight of his anxiety, when Zayn puts a hand on his arm gently.

"You alright, Lou?"

"Yeah, just really fucking uncomfortable," Louis mutters, frustration clear in his voice.

Zayn doesn't ask more and Louis pulls out his phone, connecting it to the plane's wifi and checking Harry's twitter. There's no new updates since their performance, the last tweet being a photo of the stage from the front row where Harry had been sat. It's a bit painful, to see the photo and know that, at that moment, things were completely normal between them. No accidents through alcohol. But then, could he even rule it as an accident? They both allowed it to happen, and clearly enjoyed it at the time.

Louis shrugs off the thoughts again, shaking his head and getting up, taking a few laps of the plane and snagging a blanket. Maybe some music and rest would be a good idea.

He manages to doze off, head falling onto Zayn's shoulder in sleep, but he startles awake from nightmares shortly after, drawing odd looks from his bandmates.

"You're acting really weird," Liam points out, because one of them has to, but Louis just flips him off and twists in the chair, leaning back against Zayn and facing the window, dragging up game apps on his phone and playing the most mind-numbing music he can into his headphones. The last thing he needs is his best friends telling him how fucked up he's acting. Liam distantly says something, but Louis is already staring in determination at clouds and ignoring every single thought in his head.

Hours and hours later, they finally land on American soil, stumbling out of the plane and blinking at the sun. In separate cars they're then driven to their hotel, rushed in through the back door as the fans are already gathered outside, and led to their rooms, all on the top floor where they'll hopefully be left in peace.

Louis shuts his door the moment he's through it, taking several deep breaths as he feels the world start to crumble around him.

He doesn't want to cry and he doesn't want to be alone, wishing Harry would just send him a stupid text and pretend that everything is as it should be. But Harry doesn't text him and Louis is alone, slumping to the floor just inside the door like a puppet with its strings cut.

Eventually, while trying to breathe, he manages to crawl to the bed, needing to get away from the people walking past his door and finding strength to climb under the covers, covering himself up completely and pretending the small warm space is all he has to deal with.

He imagines the night before, by accident. Perhaps it doesn't have to mean anything, Louis thinks, but the idea of Harry being indifferent, of their intimacy being rendered worthless, is what finally breaks whatever courage he was holding onto and he starts sobbing like a child, completely overwhelmed by the realisation that he doesn't even know who he is anymore.

There's a quiet knock at the door.

Louis sits up, startled and panicky, wiping his face roughly on his sleeve before he calls out.

"What?"

"It's us," he hears Zayn say from the corridor. "Let us in, Louis."

"What do you want?"

"Just let us in, will you?"

Slowly, Louis makes his way over to the door, opening it just enough to peer outside.

"What?" he repeats. Niall and Liam are standing just behind Zayn, all looking expectantly at Louis.

"We just want to talk," Zayn tells him calmly.

"What about?"

"Drop it, mate. You look like shit."

Utterly defeated, Louis steps back, opening the door properly and ducking his head to hide his red eyes. Niall hugs him on the way in, and Liam presses a cup of tea into his hands as they all go to the bed. For what won't be the last time, Louis massively appreciates how they all get under the covers, with Louis surrounded by safety and love he knows and understands. It's a plus that his face is more obscured, too.

"So there's this boy called Harry," Louis starts, hiding his mouth behind his tea because he can still taste Harry in the corners, sometimes. "He's a fan, but a really nice one." Zayn has his arm draped around Louis' shoulders, Liam pressed to his other side and Niall spread on top of the covers, over their feet. They all stay silent, waiting for Louis to continue, so he tries. "I met him at the signing and we stayed in touch."

"You mean you still talk to him?" Niall asks, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, we, um, we texted and called and stuff. He's from Sweden."

"Did he do something? Liam cuts in. "'cause you know we can deal with that."

"No! No, he's great. He hasn't even told his family that he knows me. No one knows."

"Alright," Liam nods, though he looks suspicious. "So what's going on?"

"I gave him a ticket to the X-Factor final," Louis mumbles. "And he stayed over at my place."

"Does anyone higher up know this is happening?" Niall checks, frowning a little.

"Not that I know. I mean, they obviously monitor my twitter account, but I deleted our conversation on twitter so they can't see we talked." It's ridiculous, how shady he has to be just to have friends. "And Alberto thinks I knew him way back in Donny, because he's never heard him talk."

"So what happened at your house?" Liam presses, and Zayn rubs Louis' shoulder soothingly. It's around then that he remembers the topic of conversation and loses it again, tears spilling over and thickening his voice.

"We were drinking wine and comparing tattoos after dinner, and..." Saying it out loud is too terrifying, and somehow he can't do it because then it'll become real.

"Something happened, didn't it?" Zayn says quietly and it's clear that he doesn't mean a spilled glass of wine. Louis nods and wipes more tears from under his eyes, unable to look at any of them.

"What?" Liam says, waiting for someone to fill him in. "What happened?"

"They slept together," Zayn supplies.

Louis can hear a sharp intake of breath from Niall, Liam being uncomfortably silent at his side.

He feels like maybe, just maybe, he should get away from them, shift and get to his feet because Liam might not be comfortable having him so close, and Niall might be caught with images he really didn't want, and maybe Zayn's quiet voice was to hide his judgement. He starts to apologise, feeling like it's required, but it's buried under more sobs and attempts to calm himself down.

"That's a bit weird, mate," Liam starts, making Louis flinch towards Zayn, curling up and in on himself, clutching the tea like a lifeline before Liam continues, "just 'cause, like, you've never shown an interest before."

"And he's a fan," Niall adds, reaching out to pat Louis' ankle carefully, like he's worried Louis will make a run for it if they move suddenly. It feels like he might. "But we're not going to stop loving you because of this. Right, lads?"

There's a gentle chorus of agreement, which is something.

"But I don't get it," Liam says after a beat. "Like, how did it even happen?"

"It was an accident," Louis tries to explain. "I didn't... It just happened."

"How do you accidentally have sex with a mate?" Liam presses.

"Liam," Zayn warns.

"We kissed and-"

"But why did you kiss?"

" _I_ kissed him, okay?" Louis raises his voice, tired of trying to justify himself and indignant enough to finally find footing for his voice. "He was right there, shirtless, and I wanted to kiss him so I did. Happy now?"

"Well..."

"Lads," Niall interrupts, "enough."

"Louis," Zayn says gently, "it's alright if you like him."

There's a sudden silence, thick and uncomfortable with implications, and Louis never wanted to get to this stage, where he'd have to actually _feel_ something other than panic and self-pity.

"Do you like him?" Niall asks, making it so that Louis can't swerve a direct question. Louis shrugs, staring into his tea and wishing he remembered how to breathe without gasping and his shoulders trembling against Zayn. If the answer is yes, it means they need to do something about it. And really, Louis has never felt this shaken over a one-off thing, so it must be big.

"I-- Yeah..." he admits, recognising that all the signs were probably there all along, ever since he first saw Harry. He just didn't know how to interpret them.

"Alright," Zayn nods, sounding more relaxed than any of them look, "guess we've got to sort it out, then. Have you talked to Harry since last night?"

"He left really early for a flight. We didn't say much."

"Then that's a start. He might be as rough as you are about this."

"What about Eleanor?" Liam asks and Louis has to physically brace himself in order to reply.

"I have to break up with her," he says.

"So you're going to throw away a three year relationship for a one night stand?"

"Listen," Louis snaps, turning to face Liam properly. "Me and El haven't been good for a long time and Harry's got nothing to do with it. And he isn't a one night stand, he's my friend."

"Talk to Harry, first then,” Liam decides as if he's in charge. “See where that's going before things get out of our control, yeah?" It's a little annoying how he's always thinking of the bigger picture, how things will be perceived, but it's rarely been so important to their well being as it is now so Louis bites back his retort and reaches for his phone, sending a simple "Hi" to Harry before closing the chat.

He gets a reply seconds later, even if it must be in the middle of the night where Harry is.

"Hi, Louis."

"How are you feeling?" Louis sends, uncertain of how to start up a conversation that seemed to have died the moment their lips met.

"Guilty about missing you," Harry writes back, and Louis feels a spark of warmth in his chest.

"I'm sorry I acted so weird." Louis isn't sure how else to answer, but that needs to be said.

"You had to think it over, I understand." Harry is almost painfully forgiving, and Louis feels marginally worse for ignoring him.

"Are you free to talk about it?"

"Sure. Text or video?"

"Could I come see you?"

There's a delay before Harry replies this time, and Louis doesn't know if it's a good idea but he wants to see him. He wants to really _know_.

"So do you reckon you're gay then?" Niall suddenly asks, and it takes Louis several seconds to process it, mind working sluggishly now that the worst of the adrenaline has worn off.

"Niall!" Liam admonishes him. "Give him some time." There's a pause before he turns to Louis with a thoughtful expression. "Are you, though?"

"I don't know," Louis frowns, actually considering it for a moment. "I never even saw, well, him. Not properly. How should I know if I like blokes?"

"Those are details we really don't need, Lou," Zayn reminds him, smiling.

"You asked!" Louis points out. "I guess it's just different with Harry. He's not like other guys."

"What's he like then?" Niall asks.

"Nicer, for one." Niall grins. "He just doesn't care what people think," Louis adds.

"I noticed he's careful with what he does online," Zayn supplies, "I looked him up when you mentioned him, found a lot of cryptic instagrams and vague twitter posts."

Louis can't help but laugh, thinking about those bloody photos.

Just then, a message comes through, a simple "sure (:" and it's enough to make him smile wider than the little emoticon.

"What did he say?" Niall coaxes, trying to see the display.

"I'm going to Sweden," Louis announces, holding his phone away from Niall.

"When?"

"Soon as we're done with this bloody show."

"You sure that's a good idea?" Zayn inquires carefully.

"I can do what I want with my free time," Louis points out sharply.

"Yeah, alright," Liam cuts in, nudging him fondly. "Okay, now the drama is over, why don't we just relax and watch some shit American TV?"

"Can I get more tea?" Louis asks tiredly, trying to just be okay with the way things are now. It seems more possible than it did a few hours ago.

"Only because you've had a shock. Otherwise you'd make it yourself, you lazy git."

***

He tries not to think about it at all for the rest of the evening, or the day after that is filled with rehearsing and filming for their episode of Saturday Night Live. There isn't time to talk to Harry, and maybe it's for the best. Maybe he's better off not having to regret his words when the time comes.

When it's time for everyone to head home, Louis splits off, getting his own plane directly to Sweden. The boys wish him luck, each hugging him and telling him that it's going to be great over there, and to give feedback on the town since they've never been, and probably wouldn't see much if they did go.

It's a bit daunting, watching the others leave together and being left with Alberto and his own plane. It's nothing Louis could have envisioned before X-Factor, but the wariness is replaced by sudden excitement in knowing that at the other end of the flight he'll get to see Harry again, in Harry's own city, regardless of how difficult it might get.

As expected, the hours spent flying are dull, uncomfortable and far too many. He does text Harry this time around though, out of necessity.

“I'll land at 7pm your time,” Louis writes. “Staying at Elite Plaza Hotel. Do you know if it's any good?”

“It's a five star hotel, love,” Harry replies, making Louis' heart jump in his chest uncomfortably. “I'm sure it'll be alright. I finish work at 9pm. Would you like me to come to you?”

“That would be great,” Louis types out quickly, hands a little shaky as he tries not to sound too eager. “Just give them the name Cedric Evina and you'll be let in. Is it far from your workplace?”

“It's a ten minute ride on the tram, so no (: And another ten minutes home. ...Is that a Rovers player?”

Trams sound interesting, so to kill time Louis reads up on their history in relation to Gothenburg, and how iconic they are to everyone. He then checks out the singer an Harry mentioned from the old Idol series, the one he had a crush on. Admittedly, he is cute, but Louis has a crisis over trying to determine how he feels about the boy now he might not be straight.

It falls into a spiral of youtube videos and finally, they touch down at the airport and Louis is herded into a tinted car with his beanie pulled down before anyone can recognise him. It's such a weird place for a lone member of One Direction to be, so he probably has a running chance of not being discovered for a while. He doesn't want to think about what will happen if he is.

The first part of the car ride is just woods, with the motorway cutting right through. Louis looks up at the tall pine trees stretching towards a black sky and wonders what sort of creatures live in there, and if they're cold. The air is drier and icier than what Louis' used to, and there seems to be a promise of snow, just from the way his breath had clouded outside the plane.

After about half an hour, he can see buildings in the distance, and the road suddenly goes into a sort of slope, cutting right into the city as the motorway stretches on. There seems to be some sort of amusement park to his left, with massive roller-coasters and hundreds of trees lit up by Christmas lights. He can spot the harbour on the horizon, the masts and chimneys of large boats sticking up in the distance, and there's a wheel much like the London Eye shining bright on top of a hill.

He barely has time to take it all in, however, before they've exited the main road and come to a stop by the canal flanked by low but old looking stone buildings. The first thing Louis really notices as he steps out is the trams.

They sound louder than he was expecting, the bells catching his attention, and he's wary of the lines being hazardous, like train lines are, but people are walking over the dents in the road without fussing. There are snippets of discussion, all something he doesn't understand, and distantly there's a bloody great big thermometer at the side of a building that tells him in large red numbers that it's cold enough for snow. Maybe he'll get lucky.

The room in the hotel is really quite nice, with a few seats by the window and a luxurious bathroom. He surfs channels on the bed for a while, waiting for the clock to hit nine with a mixture of unease and excitement. Alberto had left him to go have a look around, and Louis hadn't wanted to be a baby about it so he'd stayed in the room alone even if he'd much rather have company while he wills the time away.

The clock strikes nine and Louis wishes he could go for a walk around the canal.

It strikes ten past and Louis peers through the window even if he can't see shit.

It strikes half past and Louis is pacing the room.

The phone rings.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir, but I have a Mr Harry Styles here to see you. Can I send him up?”

"Yes," Louis answers immediately, maybe a little desperately, and he cringes at what the poor person at the desk must think about the reason of their meeting. Hopefully Harry doesn't look all blushy and awkward, or this would come off as some paid visit that Louis isn't ready to deal with if it gets out. It doesn't help that Harry's name doesn't sound real.

When there's a light tap at his door, Louis grabs a moment to check himself in the mirror, fixing his beanie and tugging at his clothes, as if Harry hasn't probably studied pictures of him over the years and knows what he looks like, so pulling the hem of his shirt won't make any difference at all.

The door falls open, and Louis managed to forget the height gap, and is caught staring directly at Harry's tattooed collarbones before raising his eyes and smiling weakly. Harry's pretty much glowing.

“I can't believe you're in Gothenburg,” is the first thing Harry says. “This is the weirdest clash of realities.”

Louis smiles and laughs a little nervously. “Good weird or bad weird?”

“Good weird,” Harry admits, finally stepping inside but standing awkwardly by the door like he's not sure he's allowed to venture any further. He's casting furtive glances around the room, lips parted slightly, and Louis finds it strangely beautiful that he can still be so mesmerized by a simple hotel room, although there's probably nothing simple about it in Harry's eyes.

"It's nice, right?" he asks for want of conversation, and Harry nods quietly. "You can sit down, you know."

Jumping into action, Harry crouches to untie his shoes, leaving them by the door as he goes over to one of the seats, swerving around the bed like it's forbidden. Louis knows the feeling, how the air is suddenly a little bit thicker between them, and this could either go very well or completely fall apart.

To keep busy, Louis makes himself some tea and hesitates before doing the same for Harry, because he might prefer coffee, but the little packets don't look like they'd live up to the real stuff. "So, um... How are you doing?"

"Tired," Harry says honestly. "Busy day at work."

"Yeah?" Louis asks, because he still doesn't know much about Harry's life.

"Mm," Harry hums, accepting the tea when Louis offers it. Milk, no sugar. Harry had told him sugar makes your teeth rot, as if Louis didn't know.

Louis curls up in the armchair across from Harry's, with a few feet between them, and allows himself to meet his gaze.

"I'm sure you did great at work," he tells him, not doubting for a second that Harry would have done everything in his power to keep everyone around him afloat.

"I did what I could with what I had," Harry says cryptically, but Louis thinks he knows what he means.

After a little bit of prompting, Louis gets Harry to talk about work a bit more, to tell stories about his life beyond Louis, and it shows him that not only is Harry's job more than taking orders and throwing them into boxes, which are apparently called clams, but it takes enough concentration that Louis would possibly last three days, maximum, before losing track of what he was doing.

It's good to hear about somebody's day and have it be completely different to what he sees as a typical work day, and it's made all the better by Harry lighting up with energy and getting so excited to talk about jokes shared among his friends.

"I felt a bit bad for leaving in the middle of it," he tells Louis after a sip of tea, "but I said I had somewhere important to be."

"You didn't tell them where?" Louis asks cautiously, meaning "who" and "why".

Harry shakes his head vigorously. "Even if I did, no one would believe me. They've all heard me talk about the band, and..." He smiles suddenly, looking into his tea rather than at Louis. "They've all seen me drunkenly singing and dancing to What Makes You Beautiful enough times to know it by heart."

Louis laughs in spite of himself. "You do that?"

"When we have wine nights at my friend David's, I always end up hogging the stereo when everyone's too drunk to notice. And they all dance along before they realise what I've done. I like to believe that everyone's a One Direction fan at heart but not everyone's aware of it."

Louis giggles into his drink, loving the idea of Harry getting drunk and probably posting even more cryptic phrases online, dancing around and singing along to the songs he loves best.

"Niall does the same when he's drunk," Louis admits, "and sometimes he makes us record drunk covers when we don't remember our lines and Zayn's solos reach a new level of crazy."

Harry takes in the information like it's sacred, eyes wide and looking so into it that Louis realises it's so easy to get Harry excited with a story about himself and the other boys. He's probably one of those people that really likes old fashioned retro nostalgia, anything that tells stories and invites people into another way of life.

"You're so bloody beautiful," Louis says in a moment of complete honesty. Harry does that to him, forcing him to be entirely and utterly sincere with himself.

Harry looks at him, eyes big and innocent, mouth going slack from shock and cheeks flushing bright red, but Louis can't make himself regret it. Harry's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"Is that what you came here to tell me?" he asks at last, a tiny smile creeping into his features to let Louis know that he hasn't quite ruined it yet.

"That's a part," Louis admits shyly. Most of the time, things seem so easy with Harry, like they've talked in person for much longer than they really have, but there are moments, moments like this, when he wants to run away from the vulnerability of it too. "It's also a complete fact."

Harry sinks into his chair a little more, shoulders shuffling to dig himself a space in the plush upholstery, and it's clear that he's settling in for a big talk. "Yeah? What else are you planning to say?"

"That I think your English is really sweet," Louis tries, starting it easy, not wanting to jump too far, "nicer than mine."

"Ne- I mean, no," Harry laughs, shaking his head, "it's difficult to talk English when I've been surrounded by a different language all day. My accent is probably awful."

"That's a lie, Harold, it sounds really good with your voice. I sound all whiney and high, but you're smooth and... Um... Low." Things are different, now, Louis realises with a blush of his own. Calling someone's voice smooth and deep in this setting probably doesn't sound as innocent as he meant it.

"You're not whiney," Harry protests feebly, his cheeks still a rosy pink as he smiles.

"The thing is," Louis starts, caught by the way Harry's curls caress his pale neck, resting against his shoulder, "that I like you a whole lot. What happened the other day... It wasn't an accident. It was real. At least for my part."

He feels horribly laid bare once the words are out, like he's revealed things he should never have uncovered at all, let alone in the presence of someone that matters so much, but Harry only smiles, twirling a strand of hair between his fingers like he doesn't blame him.

"Then you must know," he says after a pause, "that you're as real as it gets for me."

"Are you sure?"

"Louis, I've known you for years. Not personally, I know, but knowing you in real life hasn't changed anything. I loved you when you stepped on that sea urchin and managed to sing anyway, and I love you now, when you're sat right in front of me looking like your life is flashing before your eyes." He smiles, tilting his head a little. "It's always been simple for me, Lou, when it comes to you."

It's a thing that probably won't stop being a little strange for Louis, but he's come to accept that Harry will always have known him longer. What's harder to take in though, is the level of affection and commitment that comes with that, and how unafraid Harry seems to be of it. "You felt like this the whole time we've been friends and you didn't do anything?"

"That would have been disrespectful and wrong," Harry frowns, "besides, I'm just really glad you bothered keeping up conversation, when you didn't have to. I never expected you to spend rare days off in my own town." He's smiling again by the time he's finished, looking really pleased and so very honest. It strikes Louis that perhaps Harry doesn't know how to lie properly. He just evades giving out truths that aren't his to give.

"How are you so amazing?" he asks because he can't help himself, and making Harry laugh is always, always worth it.

"Be nice to nice," Harry replies at last, reaching a hand out for Louis to grab hold of before he can decode his words. "Can you hug me now?" he asks shyly.

Louis complies before he can really think about it, climbing out of his chair and squashing onto Harry's, arms slotting around him and pulling him close enough to bury his face in curls and breathe. He smells predominantly like burgers but Louis doesn't complain, even if he's now yearning for fast food.

"Do you need to talk more?" Harry whispers against his ear. "What do you need?"

"Later," Louis answers, already lost in sensations as he nuzzles the side of Harry's face. "Take me to bed."

"You sure, älskling?"

It's a new word, but a really pretty one, so Louis asks to hear it again, rolling it around his tongue as Harry suddenly scoops him up, easily carrying him the short distance to the bed.

It's the strangest feeling, being the small one, being _cared_ for in such a blatantly physical way and Louis' certainly never been carried to bed by a lover before but with Harry it almost seems the only way it could have gone, and he isn't really scared at this point, like he'd expected. He doesn't have to prove anything, as he knows Harry won't see him differently either way, and he's not sure he's ever felt so liberated as in this moment, when Harry lays him down and smiles for an eternity before finally pressing in and closing his lips softly over Louis'.

It's better this time, starker, like a light being switched on somewhere in his brain, painting everything in new colours. He loves this, loves the smell and the heat and the way Harry holds him like he's a little bit fragile, like he needs to be looked after. He loves how Harry kisses him deeply and doesn't hold back, how he guides Louis with a hand in his hair, like he knows exactly what he wants and how to make it better. All Louis has to do is hold on.

And this time, once he's shrugged off his own shirt, Harry does take the time to undress Louis slowly, starting with the beanie and continuing with his jumper and t-shirt, staying in control and allowing Louis to be submissive in a way he's never been given before.

Harry's incredibly gentle, crouching over him and taking time to appreciate all of him, outlining tattoos with his tongue and watching Louis for a response.

"Do you know what sort of thing you like?" Harry asks, nosing along a hipbone peeking out of his waistband, and Louis makes the connection that really, it's all sort of the same when it comes to his own body, regardless of who he's with.

"Um, not really kept track, I'm afraid. Guess you have to work it out for both of us," he smiles, breathless with how Harry's hair tickles soft skin. "Show me what you like?"

His answer is a low chuckle, Harry's eyes glinting. "I don't think you're quite ready for all that."

It takes Louis all of two seconds to figure out what he means. “Oh,” he breathes, tilting his head to find Harry's gaze in the vicinity of his stomach. He must look scared because Harry chuckles quietly and comes back up to kiss him soothingly, running a hand through his hair before he says, “It's okay, love. We're taking it slow. No need to worry.”

“I'm not worried,” Louis says defiantly though he is a little bit, because he's never had to consider this kind of thing before, how far he's willing to take it.

“Good,” Harry purrs, suddenly lowering himself between Louis' legs and rolling his hips gently. “I'll take care of you,” he whispers just as Louis lets out a low moan, moving to meet Harry's shallow thrusts.

Harry's radiating confidence, smiling down at him with utter softness, and Louis never imagined this going quite so quickly, but it works, because Harry makes him comfortable. The bed under them is soft against his bare skin, and when Harry curls his fingers over the waistband of his sweats, Louis trusts him, lifting his hips up against Harry's for a brief second before he moves away, dragging the material with him. "Let's just have some fun, and see how you feel," Harry whispers, ghosting a hand over Louis' underwear and skimming over his chest as he settles between his legs again.

"You need to lose your trousers first," Louis manages, feelings a bit brave as he reaches out, meaning to catch the button on Harry's jeans and help him, "we didn't get that far before..."

Harry sits up then, grinning victoriously as he makes quite a show of getting his jeans off, until his foot catches in the leg and he falls onto the sheets by Louis' side, giggling.

"Smooth, Hazza," Louis drawls and turns to face him, splaying his fingers over the butterfly on Harry's stomach.

"I'm the king of smooth," Harry agrees, and stills once his jeans are on the floor, letting Louis touch him as he pleases. "How are you feeling?" he asks.

"Good," Louis tells him quietly. "Nervous."

"You don't need to be," Harry reminds him, letting his head fall back and closing his eyes, letting Louis do what he wants without feeling like he's under scrutiny. After just tracing tattoos for a while, Louis carefully lowers his head to run his tongue over one of the “real” nipples, breath faltering when Harry inhales, pressing his shoulders further into the bed to push up a little. "Mmnn. That's nice, Lou."

Humming to show that he heard, Louis repeats it, getting comfortably acquainted with the new landscape stretched beyond him and taking his time to get all reactions he can before Harry tugs on a strand of hair gently, coaxing him up to kiss while he moves their bodies to line up.

This way, Louis' on top, and it's a little daunting but Harry holds him in place and pushes him down with a hand on his hip and _god_ , it feels good, just being pressed together like this, still with layers in between.

Louis moves a little, wriggling on top of Harry and feeling goose bumps rise at the sound of his quiet moans.

"Like this?" Louis mumbles, grinding timidly against him and Harry just lets out a breathy "yeah", urging him on with a hand slipping into Louis' boxers to grab at his bum.

They stay like that for a while, getting used to the rhythm, but then Harry switches things up again, rolling them to the side and sliding a hand down Louis' chest, palming him through his boxers with a smug expression on his face at how Louis can't stop himself from arching into it. It feels better than anything has for a while, and he hesitantly twists, reaching down between them to mirror Harry.

Biting at Louis' bottom lip lightly, he groans and moves closer, pushing into Louis' space in encouragement, his long hair falling in sheets in front of his face. There's a gleam in his eyes, a flush covering his cheeks, and Louis feels breathless with it, so new and exhilarating and _good_.

And then Harry's hand dips under the waistband of his underwear to properly wrap around him, and Louis stills, shocked into silence and submission.

Harry slows down, his hand moving confidently over Louis, and he makes quiet shushing sounds in an obvious attempt to calm him. It's not that Louis is having a sexuality crisis, except he sort of is. Even if they've done worse, they'd been fairly drunk at the time, and this _feels_ new, with Harry's hand bigger than the girls he's used to being with - more confident.

"Are you okay?" Harry asks quietly. "You're not making those nice sounds any more."

"Yeah... I'm good." It's not quite true, but it's starting to feel a bit closer to reality with every second that he tells himself to calm down.

"You're gorgeous, love," Harry mumbles against his ear then, never letting his hand still where it's coaxing Louis into full hardness again. "You're perfect. Just breathe, you'll be okay. You're doing so good, babe."

The words wash over him in gentle waves, soft and kind in their sincerity, and Louis takes a deep breath before reaching down to push his boxers down his legs, finally lying naked and exposed in the soft sheets.

"Beautiful," Harry whispers against his chest, tongue darting out to lick over a nipple. "Älskling."

Louis tries in vain to keep touching Harry, so he doesn't feel left out, but it's tough to concentrate, and he eventually gives in, keeping his hand over Harry so he can at least still press against him for friction. It seems like Harry is completely content to wait his turn and focus on Louis however, and he'd never expected sex with another guy to be this selfless. Perhaps he lucked out, but then he knew that already.

"Just relax, baby," Harry murmurs, dragging him even closer, "I've got you, it's alright."

And when he kisses him again Louis feels like he's getting to the point where thinking becomes arduous and the world begins to fall away. He knows he's moaning now, high pitched whines echoing off the walls, but he's not quite aware of it, too lost in the way Harry moves his hand in all the right ways. He finds that he's grateful that Harry's close this time, his lips never ceasing to press soft kisses to Louis' face and neck, and he likes being able to tangle his fingers in his curls, holding on as he feels himself spinning out of control.

He isn't quite sure he's ever had an orgasm build-up that's so body shattering in his life, but when he finally gets there, it's like all his nerves spark, fingers going numb as they lock into Harry's hair.

It could be anything between a minute or ten when the world stops sounding fuzzy and distant, and Louis gets his bearings again. Harry is peppering his face with kisses, smiling softly, and his whole body is heavy, completely out of action for the foreseeable future.

"Fucking hell," he breathes, drawing a quiet chuckle out of Harry, who's currently dragging fingers through the come on Louis's stomach and sucking it off. "You like that?" Louis asks weakly, watching Harry nod happily and smile around the fingers in his mouth.

"I am full of surprises," Harry tells him, and Louis doesn't even doubt it for a second.

"What else do you like?" he asks, for want of a better topic as his hand drifts down to stroke over Harry through his underwear, deciding that he wants to, for himself. Harry nuzzles into his neck, shifting to give him better access.

"I like _that_ ," he manages, nosing at Louis' jawline fondly, "your hand is nice." Louis suspects he's talking about how tiny his hands are compared to Harry's, but doesn't bother bringing it up to save face.

"Hey, babe," he says instead, into Harry's hair. "Would you mind lying on my other side? Not so good with me left hand."

Harry laughs softly again but complies and crawls over Louis gracelessly, taking the opportunity to pull his underwear off while he's at it. Louis looks down and feels his breath catch a little in his throat at the sight. Harry's only half hard and Louis' feeling extremely uncertain when he wraps his fingers around him, trying to touch him like he would himself.

Harry's head falls back with a pleasant moan, eyes closed and one hand stroking through Louis' hair lazily.

"That's really nice," he murmurs. "Really good."

"Yeah?"

"Lou, it's a cock, you can't exactly do something wrong, can you?" Harry reminds him, the frankness of his words succeeding in drawing a laugh, and things get easier from there.

Harry really is one of the most beautiful people Louis has ever seen, and the way he moves into Louis' hand with his whole body is breathtaking. There's something so shameless about him, the way he stares right into Louis' eyes as he moans and snaps his hips, reaching to pinch his own nipples. And then he comes, mouth open around a shout as his eyes finally flutter shut. Louis' never seen anything like it.

"Fuck..." Louis breathes. "Fuck, Harry."

"So good," Harry mumbles, turning onto his side to snuggle into Louis' arms. "Älskar dig."

"Hm?" he hums, wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulders carefully.

"Nothing. You're amazing."

Louis smiles, kissing at Harry's temple and nuzzling into his hair. "You're more amazing," he promises, sighing deeply and dragging the covers up.

"Do you still want to talk?" Harry whispers, cuddling himself into Louis' side.

"Nah, that can wait."

"Babe..."

Louis lets out a quiet laugh, his arm squashed under Harry's neck and curls tickling his face. He feels light headed. "It's nice when you say stuff like that. Not used to it."

"No? But you deserve to hear it every day," Harry tells him seriously. Louis might be blushing.

"This is really overwhelming," he says quietly.

"That's alright."

"I wanna do it again."

"That's alright, too," Harry smiles, reaching out to trace Louis' jaw. "But this isn't the talk we should be having." His voice takes on a softer tone, expression almost painfully kind. "What about Eleanor?"

Squirming, Louis finds it difficult to keep eye contact while thinking about her. "I'm going to have to break up with her," he replies, looking at the window and the darkness outside.

It's the second time he says it, and yet he still hasn't done anything about it. He wonders if it makes him a terrible person.

"You haven't talked to her then?"

"I haven't properly talked to her for weeks, Harry," Louis sighs. "I've been talking to _you_ every day, so do you see my problem?"

"I'm not blaming you, love. I never did."

"I know," he admits. Harry probably doesn't have the ability to blame anyone for anything. "But it's just... I didn't want to do anything until I knew what was happening with us." It's a flimsy excuse to begin with, but now he's in Sweden, in bed with Harry, he can't really hold off any more.

"So if I hadn't been interested you'd have stayed with her?" Harry asks, but Louis can't really detect any judgement in the question.

"I don't know," he says so quietly he can barely hear it himself. He thinks he must be pretty terrible after all.

Harry doesn't answer him for a while, but pulls him a little closer and holds him there. Then, he whispers, "No one wants to be alone."

Louis has a brief thought that nobody could possibly be this kind and understanding, but then it's wiped away by soft lips on his and gentle hands combing through his hair. He isn't even aware of stray tears until Harry smudges them into Louis' skin and kisses the dampness left behind.

"You'll be alright," Harry assures him, too confident for someone younger than Louis is, "because I've got you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. When are you going back?"

"Um, tomorrow. But I could stay longer, you know, if you want me to." He's so bad at this, he realises, but Harry's so nice that it doesn't seem to matter.

"Would you like to meet my family?"

"Do they know who I am?"

"Well, they'll recognise you from my posters, probably, but they won't tell anyone," Harry promises, sounding like he's trying to coax a very hesitant animal into a new, open space. "We can have dinner and you can see where I live. I got to see your house, it's fair."

There's no real rush to go back to Donny for the holidays, and Louis knows it's probably not often that he'll get to visit this town before people catch on, so he smiles shyly, and whispers his reply into Harry's neck. "I guess I can stay for a few more days, then."

Harry squeezes him tightly at that and Louis doesn't mind. He doesn't mind being naked and sticky, pressed to Harry's chest like a little child, letting himself be kissed until his skin starts burning, and he thinks it's never been this good, ever before.

"Do you want to stay the night?" he asks when Harry shifts to kiss his neck, biting gently on his ear.

"Of course I do."

"And can you tell me more about that other stuff?"

Harry lifts his head to look at him. "You mean sex stuff?"

"Yeah," Louis smiles, feeling his skin heat up further, "we've got all night, it seems."

"I could tell you," Harry starts, his hand taking a slow and wandering trail down Louis' spine to rest at the small of his back where sparks of energy are slowly gathering, "but it might be easier to show you."

"Yeah, okay." Louis figures he's got nothing to lose, now, and things feel good, so he should go with it before he loses his nerve. "Do I need to do anything?"

"No, love, just stay where you are," Harry soothes him, smiling until it freezes, and he looks a little concerned. Seeing him look serious is such a confusing thing that Louis assumes the worst, fearing that some sort of Swedish super-hearing has picked up on people nearby that can hear them.

"What?" he asks in a hiss, not wanting to be overheard.

"Nothing, just... I don't have any lube, and I don't think you do, either."

"Oh," he breathes. "And condoms?"

"Yeah, that too," Harry nods, pausing before adding, "though I could get some."

"You mean leave and go to the shop?"

"If you really want to do it, sure," Harry smiles. "But we don't have to."

"I think I really want to," Louis mumbles, because it suddenly seems so important.

"Then wait here, love," Harry tells him, leaning in for a lingering kiss before he crawls out of bed. "I'll just be a few minutes."

Louis watches him get dressed, stunned into silence as he gets a view of Harry's naked body under the lights. He's completely unbothered, barely noticing Louis looking, and it's like the penny finally drops in that moment, and Louis realises he's in love.

He must suddenly stop breathing, because Harry turns to look at him as he drags a faded t-shirt over his head, and his smile is so bright it almost hurts.

"We're like teenagers," he smiles, melting Louis' heart as he tries to keep up with his revelation. "I won't be long."

He watches Harry stumble as he tries to put on his shoes fast, and then he's suddenly gone, and Louis is left bare under foreign covers, just waiting.

For want of something better to do, and needing some home comfort that he understands, Louis wraps a sheet around himself like a toga and makes some tea.

He still can't see anything out his window, but he tries, and once he remembers, he sends a text to Alberto to let him know Harry's arrived and to change his ticket. Alberto must know, Louis thinks, blushing at the very thought, but at least he's bound to silence by contract and all Louis has to worry about in the matter is his own dignity when they next see each other and Alberto raises his eyebrows and asks how his trip was.

When Harry returns, Louis' crawled back into bed. He might be shaking a little, or maybe it's just his heart hammering in his chest, it's hard to tell when Harry starts taking his clothes off again, tossing a small bag on the bed.

"You okay?" Harry checks, hair ruffled by the wind outside and looking even less real than before. Louis nods, watching the little bag like if he touches it, it could explode. When Harry crawls onto the bed, reaching for Louis to catch his attention, all Louis can do is blink owlishly at him. "Are you still up for this?"

"I think so," he rasps, coughing a little to clear his throat.

"Alright," Harry nods and lifts the covers so he can climb on top and straddle Louis' hips. It immediately causes him to relax, like being held down is something comforting rather than threatening.

Harry doesn't say more. Instead, he bends over to slot his lips over Louis', kissing him like it's all he's ever done. Louis lifts his hands to wrap them around Harry's waist, telling himself that he'll be carefully looked after, and there's no need to feel worried about anything.

Slowly, Harry lowers himself, slotting against him and framing Louis' limbs with his own to keep him in place, so all Louis needs to do is mirror when Harry rocks against him, closing his eyes and focusing on their heated skin meeting all across their bodies.

"S- So, how do we do this?" Louis whispers when they're both a little breathless, his own face no doubt reflecting the flush creeping across Harry's cheeks.

"Well, to start easy, I thought you could do me," Harry tells him with their lips almost touching in what barely counts as a kiss. "Sound good to you?"

It sounds perfect, and definitely like something he can do without worrying that something will go wrong, so Louis nods roughly, closing the gap and kissing him hard.

They part only so Harry can reach for the bag, taking out the lube and handing the condoms to Louis. He lies down on his side then, and Louis rolls over to mirror him, watching as he pours some liquid onto his fingers and reaches back.

Seeing Harry opening himself up is one of the most breathtaking things Louis' ever experienced. He can't see much, but the way Harry twists and moans is enough to drive him to reach out, needing to feel everything and anything he can while there's still time.

Harry's hard and leaking by the time he's finished, and Louis is starting to hurt from how much he wants him.

It's stunning, how Harry seems to be so confident that he can do anything without being self-conscious, but Louis almost feels the same when Harry pulls him closer, and Louis reaches down between them, wanting to see what that part of what they're doing is like. Just pushing one finger into him is a bit overwhelming, and it hits Louis that if he isn't careful, neither of them will last very long. Harry's watching him with eyes glazed over, clearly happy with just this, but it isn't enough by far, so he pulls away and sits up to reach the little packets of condoms.

"How do you want to be?" Louis asks as he tears open the foil shakily, realising that he's never really experimented with positions much, and has no idea what would be most enjoyable for Harry.

"I'm fine like this," Harry mumbles as he rolls onto his back, legs spread obscenely. Sluggishly, he reaches for a pillow to push under his back.

"Okay," Louis whispers, shuffling over to position himself between Harry's knees. "How do I do this?"

"Just go slow. I'm sure you've done this before," he smiles.

"Not with you," Louis whispers and pushes in.

Harry reaches out one hand to curl over Louis' shoulder, the other twisting into the sheets for grounding as he closes his eyes, and Louis is a little relieved, because he's aware of himself making some pretty outrageous sounds, and can't imagine how he must look, tiny compared to Harry and tentatively wondering if there's ever going to be a point where he can't move forward any more, because time is going really slowly, but then he's there, pressed close to Harry and gasping for air in the warm room, convinced that he's missed out on really good sex thanks to over six years of being sexually active with the wrong people.

"S'good, Lou," Harry breathes, opening his eyes to reveal blown pupils as he drags Louis in for a slow kiss, subtly shifting himself to test how it feels. "You can move, I'm okay."

"Not sure if I am," Louis laughs breathlessly, grateful that he's already come once or he would have been really scared to fuck it up.

Harry smiles at him, relaxed and content, pulling him in closer with his heels pressed to Louis's back, fingers tangled in his hair. "Go on, love."

So Louis does, and Harry's so so tight but it feels so good and Louis has to bury his face in Harry's neck to ground himself because he's scared he'll lose control otherwise.

It gets worse when Harry starts meeting him halfway, pushing up off the bed and digging his heels in to get Louis deeper, and Louis realises that Harry's probably quite acrobatic, could probably pull off a variety of different moves and still look this amazing. Louis wants to try them all, but isn't sure if this time is going to last enough to even consider moving around.

Harry mostly repeats Louis' name breathlessly in heavily accented English between compliments of how good everything feels and particularly how Louis feels in him, and in any other mindset, Louis knows he'd be mortified, but all he can think is that his name has never sounded more beautiful.

His knees are slipping against the fine sheets so he shifts, sitting up slightly to get a better angle. Harry's smiling, and when Louis starts thrusting again he reaches for his cock, touching himself while Louis fucks him. It's enough to drive him right to the edge.

"I'm not gonna last," Louis mumbles, hair falling sweaty into his eyes as he bows his head. "I'm close. Harry..."

And it happens even faster than he'd anticipated, the rush of heat, the instant bliss, his hips stuttering and arms shaking.

Harry tips his head back, lips parted around Louis' name as he gives in, following Louis into the weird headspace after fantastic sex. Louis knows he should maybe move, should give Harry some space and maybe curl up next to him, but he feels so sensitive that the idea of pulling away doesn't appeal, and the way Harry lifts his hips in short aborted movements makes it look like he still enjoys feeling Louis there as his hand coaxes the last of his orgasm through his body and he finally opens his eyes again. He looks completely out of it when he blearily focuses on Louis, and swipes two fingers over the liquid coating his chest, lifting them to his lips and humming quietly. Louis knows in that moment that he never wants anybody else to see Harry like that, so beautiful without even trying.

"Harry," he croaks, swiping a few strands of hair off his forehead. "Is it always like that?"

Harry's lips break into a tired smile. "No," he says, "it's not."

Louis pulls back then, removing the condom and reaching for a pack of tissues that Harry thoughtfully got them and using them to clean up. Harry lies quietly in the same spot and watches Louis with big gleaming eyes, and he wonders if he can ever come back from this, or if maybe Harry's changed him for good.

There's also the sinking feeling that he doesn't want to come back from this, and the idea of being with anybody other than Harry is a disconcerting one.

"I think you're done cleaning up," Harry murmurs lazily, reaching a warm hand out in attempt to draw Louis back to the covers, and he goes easily, curling up at Harry's side and pressing soft kisses to his skin as they drift in and out of sleep.

When Harry talks again, it sounds distant and muted, and Louis has to focus on waking up again to hear him properly.

"You should stay with me, rather than alone in this place. Nobody even knows you're here."

"What about your parents?"

"They're going away day after tomorrow, down south, for Christmas."

They fall silent after that, and Louis pushes his face into Harry's hair in an attempt to stay hidden, to put off the inevitable. Harry lets him, and they fall asleep like that, pressed together in the middle of the bed.

***

Things seem quite different when he wakes up, the stark contrast of daylight burning his eyes and Harry's deep breaths a harsh reminder of his crimes.

It seems to be quite early, and Louis isn't sure exactly what woke him up, because there's no loud sounds outside beyond traffic, and everything seems to be covered in a layer of white, that he can see.

With difficulty, he climbs out of the limb-forest that is Harry, and shivers his way into some warm clothes, stealing Harry's coat and scarf before setting out before he can think too much about it. He needs some time to think, and check out a new city that doesn't know he's there.

Alberto won't be happy about him wandering alone, and Harry might wake up and wonder where he's gone, but at this moment Louis doesn't care about their concern. He needs to breathe, and the snow that has fallen overnight seems to muffle any attempt to disturb the peace in the streets.

Not many people are out at this hour. Louis walks along the canal until he reaches the harbour, following the river past the casino and the opera, standing alone against the clear sky.

And there he stops, right at the edge of the embankment, and picks up his phone. He has no choice but to call her.

For a terrifying second, Louis is convinced that she isn't going to answer, and has to battle with the choice of hanging up or leaving an awkward message that would then be there for as long as she chooses. But before he can pick the first option, Eleanor answers, sounding a little tired, and he can imagine her, cuddled up in a duvet, probably back home with family, soft and completely unaware of her day turning slightly askew even as Louis exhales a cloud of breath and watches is dissipate over the cold water.

"Louis? You're never awake this early..."

"Hey..." He wants to say more, but can't find the words immediately.

"What's up?"

"I... You know, I'm in Sweden," Louis laughs quietly, ducking his head. “And no one knows. Mental, innit?”

"Louis..." Eleanor sounds wary, and he can hear movement, like she's sitting up, taking note. "What's wrong?"

"I don't think I can do this any more. Us."

There's a beat of silence, and then, "Did something happen?" Her voice is quiet, calm, like she isn't even surprised. Louis had maybe expected more emotion, but then she never was one for theatrics.

"I met a boy," Louis croaks and watches the pigeons on the cobble stones. Perhaps it's easier that way, he thinks, to place the blame elsewhere. She didn't do anything wrong, in the end.

"And he's so special you'd throw away everything?"

"Well. Yeah." Louis isn't sure he's said it out loud with such sincerity before, but it's so honest that he hurts with the need to make sure Harry knows it. "I think he is."

"You never took time out to come see me just a few miles away, and you've skipped countries for this boy?"

"You never came to see me, either. This is shared blame, El." Louis feels terrible, but this wasn't supposed to last too long. She needs someone that isn't abroad most of the year with a band. _The same goes for Harry_ a voice at the back of his head reminds him, but it's different with him, he tells himself. It's got to be.

"You can't tell me you're happy like this," he says quietly, shivering as he starts to walk back.

"You're not exactly helping," she snaps, then sighs, as if in defeat. "Did you know? All this time?"

"No," Louis breathes. "I never lied to you."

"Who is he?"

"A Swede," Louis laughs, as if that's the most absurd thing about it all. She doesn't laugh with him and for a long time there's just silence on her end, save for the rustling of sheets and something scraping against wood. Enough for him to know she's still there.

"I'm sorry," he says at last, just as it starts to snow again. "I didn't mean for it to happen like this."

"I'm not sure anyone ever plans a breakup properly,” she replies unexpectedly, and there's another moment of silence before she adds, “Just try not to screw this boy up, Tomlinson. He's probably head over heels for you, so you need to make sure you're everything he needs."

It's as close to a blessing as he's going to get, even if it's covered in bitter tones and a bit of disappointment. They hang up on an empty promise to stay in contact, and Louis ducks into a 7/11 after seeing a poster outside of someone undeniably Scandinavian, with blond hair and bright blue eyes, holding a hot drink that's probably coffee. It dawns on him that Harry came in here to buy lube and condoms yesterday, but there's no way the person at the counter can piece that together. Louis awkwardly asks for two cups of coffee, because the tea is going to be weird, it always is outside England. He has to pay by card because he never considered getting any Swedish money together, let alone what currency they use. All price signs just use some weird " :- " symbol, and he doesn't know what that's supposed to mean.

Harry wakes up when Louis returns to their room. He blinks and stretches, looking at Louis as if he's not sure who he is for a moment.

"Where have you been?" he asks with a voice like an old record, scratching over the tracks.

"Walking," Louis tells him as he sets the tea down, crawling over the sheets to press a kiss to Harry's mouth. "I'm in love with you."

Harry looks up at him with wide eyes, lips parting in a silent _oh_ , before he sits up and curls into Louis' space, sleep warm and soft. "Do you mean it?" he whispers.

"Why wouldn't I mean it?" Louis asks, wondering what bad people Harry has known in his life that would lie about that.

"Well. You're with Eleanor."

"Not anymore."

"What do you mean?"

Louis draws back enough to be able to look at him, their faces close with the duvet bundled up between their knees, and says, "I just spoke to her on the phone, told her the truth."

"Oh my god," Harry breathes, one hand coming up to cover his mouth in shock. "You broke up?"

"Yeah. She doesn't know who you are so don't worry but she knows I met someone - a guy. Didn't want to lie about that."

Harry stares at him for a few more seconds, looking like he can barely believe this is really happening. "And you just... that's it? Is that done?"

"Well, I'll need to tell the team so they can work out a way to publicly announce that we're not together any more, but... I think so." He feels like a massive weight is off his chest, like he doesn't have to lie to himself anymore. "And the boys should hear it from me. They know I'm trying to work it out with you."

Harry nods, shifting impossibly closer and still tangled up in the sheets as it slips down his waist, revealing the smooth curves of his hips. "You're free to do whatever you want, now, then?"

Louis realises then that maybe Harry isn't aware just how important he is to Louis. He might honestly have no idea that he's currently one of the most crucial people in his life.

“Not quite,” he says quietly, because Harry needs the truth. Harry needs everything. “I'm gonna have to come out. Not just officially but to my family and friends and the people I work with. It's not going to be quick or easy, Harry, but I want to. I want to be with you in every way, okay? If you'll have me.”

Harry kisses him then, pulling Louis with him until he's got his legs wrapped around him, slipping his fingers under the hem of his jumper to start pushing it out of the way. “I'll have you,” he mumbles between kisses, “every second of every day, Louis Tomlinson.” And then he turns them around so Louis' on his back with Harry's hand down his pants, gasping as Harry holds him down gently.

Harry is so gentle, always, and Louis isn't sure he could feel any safer. He wraps a warm hand around Louis, propping himself up so he can duck his head and lick at his skin, tracing tattoos and grazing his teeth over nipples until they're so sensitive he isn't sure his body will ever go back to a state where it isn't tingling and falling apart under Harry's touch. He keeps whispering Louis' name into his skin, promising to keep him and look after him, and it's all so overwhelming but he doesn't want it to end, doesn't want to fall over the edge or Harry to stop holding him so close.

But it does end, and Louis wonders if every orgasm with Harry is going to be this good, leaving him shivery and breathless for long minutes afterwards. Harry's moving his hips in small circles against Louis' thigh, and he's slightly tempted to just see how long it would take him to come just from that, but then a sudden urge seizes him and he rolls Harry over, wriggling down along his body until he's so close to his cock that he can smell him, sweet and earthy and not all that different from what Louis' used to.

Harry's fallen still, eyes trained on Louis and chest heaving as he waits for Louis to make a move, as if staying still will avoid spooking him suddenly. After smiling up at Harry for a brief moment, Louis decides to just do it, encouraged by how Harry arches his back at the smallest stimulation.

Wrapping his lips around him is easy, and it's not too terrible, especially when Harry's a mess above him, clutching the sheets and watching him with glassy eyes, completely careless about how much noise he's making.

“I'm close,” Harry hisses after just a few minutes, tugging at Louis' hair to get him off. Louis lifts his head and gets Harry's come all over his face a moment later, when he cries out and bucks his hips into Louis' hand.

“I'm sorry, babe,” Harry mumbles on an exhale, reaching for him to wipe at his nose and cheeks. Louis laughs, elated and slightly embarrassed but mostly happy, because it's so easy to please Harry and it's so easy to be with him, even when he does end up covered in come. He can't bring himself to be bothered, though, because the possessive aspects, however accidental, feel like a confirmation, like Harry meant it when he said that he'd have him for always.

Harry still looks mortified, with Louis finally finding something about sex that can throw Harry off his confident demeanour, but then he starts actually licking at Louis' skin to clear him up, humming like he isn't having a bad time, and while it's probably the best way to efficiently get rid of all traces, it's still really weird.

"You weren't joking when you hinted at having strange interests, were you," he asks, closing his eyes until Harry finishes, pulling him over to curl up together again.

"I'd never joke about that. I'm proud of what I like."

“Yeah?” Louis smiles, feeling extraordinarily small in Harry's arms, smaller than he's ever felt despite being the size that he is. “Are you going to tell me about them?”

“Only if you really want to hear it.”

Louis thinks about it for a few seconds before he answers. “I've never really done weird stuff in bed, I suppose. But I might want to try.”

“In that case,” Harry hums against his neck, “I'd like to eat you out, sometime.”

Louis takes a moment to decode that, trying to settle on how he feels about it, how it would feel, how vulnerable he'd be. Eventually, he ends on it sounding not too out of his comfort zone. "I... I guess we could do that. You'd be careful, right?"

"There's not really any other way to be," Harry tells him. "It's my tongue, it can't exactly hurt you. Feels amazing, though."

It makes Louis blush, when he's talking like that, the cultural clash both in regards to his nationality and way of expressing his sexuality. Eleanor was never so obvious about what she wanted, and certainly wouldn't have gone that far with him. "Yeah? Tried it before?"

"It's my favourite thing," Harry answers. "I love everything about it."

“Giving or taking?”

“Both.”

Louis laughs a little breathlessly, twisting in Harry's hold so he can look at him properly. He's still wearing his sweats halfway down his legs but can't be bothered to take them off. “You just really love sex, don't you?”

“Yeah,” Harry smiles sincerely. “Why wouldn't I?”

"I've never met anybody like you." It's an easier response than trying to answer a question he doesn't know.

"Hopefully you won't meet anyone else like me. It's all I have going for me, my interesting personality." Harry grins like he isn't also gorgeous and kind, and one of the most perfect examples of humanity that Louis' ever encountered in his life.

"If I do, I'll tell them you got to me first."

Harry smiles in that carefree way that makes his face look unreal, and they kiss as if they're barely aware they're doing it before Harry says, “Is it really you and me now?”

Louis breathes into his mouth, eyelids fluttering shut as he lets himself sink deeper into Harry's arms, his smell, his warmth. “Yeah,” he mumbles, completely resigned now to the way he feels about his boy. “You and me, Hazza. Yours.”

“Mine,” Harry hums and somehow they both fall asleep without meaning to, snow still falling softly outside, caging them in.

***

Harry calls his mum later, to ask about dinner. It's a long conversation and Louis only catches stuff like his own name and the band's name and then Harry saying “ja” many times as if trying to convince her. He feels a little funny, especially about the fact that he's going to meet Harry's parents and they'll _know_ what they've done. Louis hasn't even told his own mum yet.

They bundle up as best as they can, with Harry wrapping his scarf around Louis' neck until it covers his nose, hiding his face from cold and recognition alike. Louis tells Alberto to go home to his family, promising he'll be fine, and checks out of the hotel on his own, with Harry waiting outside and pretending not to know who Louis is, and they hop onto a tram. Louis doesn't feel right not seeing the driver, and only having Harry's word that a card he presses onto a machine is actually paying for their journey, but it's warm enough as they stay close, with Harry pointing out landmarks and translating what the overhead announcements are saying. There's an advert on the wall for the best selling CDs, including One Direction's new album for 169:-, which looks like a lot of money. He isn't sure how pounds and “kronor”, as another advert informed him the money is called, convert to each other, but he settles on ignoring that, and trying not to laugh over how he's more awake now and can see how the colon and dash look like a text version of a dick. Harry asks what he's laughing at, but it seems too mean to tell him, so he brings up a story about Niall's linguistic mishaps instead.

“Are both your parents going t' be home?” Louis asks as they step off the tram, muffled under the scarf that smells like safety and faint aftershave. It's a nice area of town, Louis can tell, the houses stretching tall and old against the white sky on both sides of the road.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, refraining from taking Louis' hand when they're this exposed. “But Robin is my step dad. My biological dad lives down south.”

“I've got a step dad too,” Louis says.

“I know,” Harry smiles, and this time it doesn't make him uncomfortable that Harry knows. This time, it just is.

In the lift up to the top floor, Harry steps closer to move a strand of hair from Louis' line of vision, pushing away the soft material covering his face, and somewhere along the line they get side-tracked, Harry pressing into his space until Louis is backed up against the wall with a knee between his legs and hands splayed on his waist. He gets just enough time to tilt his head, catching Harry's lips in a warm kiss, before the lift stops, and Harry sighs, stepping back and taking Louis' hand. "We'll continue that later," he promises, and that's enough to make Louis smile and feel a bit less nervous about what's behind the door Harry is unlocking. There's a reward at the end of it all.

“Hallå!” Harry shouts as they step through the door, and immediately starts taking his shoes off. Louis copies him, not wanting to make a bad impression, and then Harry's mum and dad are there to shake his hand like that's just what you _do_ , smiling like they've never been happier in their lives.

“It's so nice to meet you, Louis,” Anne says in an accent even thicker than Harry's, pronouncing the s at the end of Louis' name. It's quite sweet but Harry immediately corrects her, flushing a little as he glances apologetically at Louis.

“It's alright,” Louis reassures them. “I don't mind.”

“Dinner's almost ready, but you can show him around first, Harry.”

“Okay,” Harry nods, grabbing Louis' hand firmly. This time it's Louis who blushes, so unused to open affection like this.

It's a small flat and it only takes them a few minutes to go through the kitchen, living room and balcony that has a view over the rooftops towards the sea. When Harry starts taking him back towards the kitchen though, Louis tugs at his hand to make him stop.

“What about your room?” he asks.

Harry's practically squirming under his gaze. “It's really embarrassing.”

"I wanna see it," Louis smiles, stepping a bit closer and laughing fondly at how red Harry's going.

"I didn't have time to redecorate, I had no idea you'd ever actually see my room..." Harry argues, "at least let me change something?"

"No, I want to see your bedroom how you see it every night. You've seen where I live, return the favour. I promise not to be offended if there's more of Zayn than there is of me."

“There isn't more of Zayn...” Harry mumbles and pushes open the door to the right of the kitchen.

It's messier than Louis would have imagined, and the sheer amount of stuff that Harry has is only adding to the impact of disorder, with walls covered in posters, photos and fairy lights. There's little lanterns and dream catchers hanging in front of the window, incense and candles lining the windowsill, and there are books strewn around the place, in all shapes and colours.

But the most notable thing is probably the life-size cardboard cut out of Louis himself standing at the foot of Harry's bed, clad in a deep green cloak and a pink feather boa. Louis needs a few seconds to process that one.

Harry stands in the middle of it all, looking around in dismay, and hurries to pull off the boa, throwing it behind a pile of clothes at the foot of his wardrobe. Louis notices the band's logo and their faces in various designs amongst the edges of folded cloth. He's clearly been downplaying how much of a fan he is in day-to-day life. But then, Louis isn't sure he could convey this.

At the top of the bed, on the wall, is the large poster of himself that he'd seen in their Skype conversations, surrounded by glow in the dark stars and smaller items about the band. Louis is fairly sure that if he took inventory, he'd see himself more times in this one room than at any concert or signing.

"This is terrible, please say something, or back out and pretend you didn't see anything?" Harry is still staring at the floor, looking incredibly uncomfortable, and it's so wrong that he only feels shame when faced with someone who's in the band he adores, so Louis goes over and wraps his arms around him, shaking his head fondly.

"You're so weird, Harry. But I like you."

“You shouldn't,” Harry mumbles and buries his face in Louis' neck.

“Babe,” Louis smiles, “you can't hold someone's love against them. I certainly won't.”

“I do love you,” Harry tells him quietly. “I've always loved you.”

“I know. And I love you back.”

They fall silent, as the gravity of it all settles around them and threatens to make their knees buckle under the weight. At least that's what it feels like to Louis. Like he's finally being tested for real, wrapped up in a promise of forever but faced with enormous sacrifices to make in return.

He pushes it to the back of his mind, locks it up tight and firm for a time when he can afford to look at it again, and says, “You can take new ones, you know.”

“Hm?” Harry hums, arms going slack around Louis' neck as he draws back to look at him.

“Photos. You can get rid of this trash.” He nods towards an old poster of himself as a teenager, smiling back at him impishly, and Harry laughs, reaching out to pluck it from the wall.

“I love this one,” he admits. “You look happy.”

“I was,” Louis agrees, “but I didn't know you then.”

Harry looks up, something like resolve in his eyes as he says, “Let's rip them all down.”

Louis couldn't imagine anything more satisfying or therapeutic than going across Harry's walls and ripping down photos of himself from the red trouser phase, the time when he looked like a prepubescent girl. Harry's laughing, but Louis is probably laughing louder, and it feels so satisfying that he doesn't want it to end. But sadly, Harry's walls are only so wide.

It's over far too soon, and they end up surrounded by scraps of candid and posed photos of Louis, strewn across the floor. Harry's left the one above his bed, the one with the stars around it, but Louis supposes that can stay for now. He doesn't look too bad. Without thinking, he scoops up handfuls of the paper at his feet, dumping them over Harry gleefully. "Time for this fucker now, I think,” he grins, indicating the stupid life-sized cut out that's still lurking at the foot of the bed.

“But he's my favourite!” Harry protests from the floor where he's feebly trying to collect the paper scraps into a pile. “And he's so handsome in my cloak.”

“You've got the real deal!”

“Paper Louis has feelings too!”

He's not sure how it happens, but as Louis goes to take it down Harry shoots up and lunges for him, causing them both to stumble and crash, luckily flooring paper Louis in the process. It punches a started laugh out of him, something free and easy that makes Harry light up like a bloody Christmas tree, and the next thing he knows Harry's mum is standing over them, watching with confusion as Harry attempts to crawl out from where he's trapped under Louis' legs.

It's a bit weird, looking to the side and seeing himself, two years ago, close to smirking from a shoot he can't even remember. Louis punches his former self, and ignores the quietly pained sounds of Harry, somewhere overhead.

They're both still giggling at the table, and Louis sits back while everyone settles into some sort of routine, passing around dishes and babbling in Swedish. It seems much more polite than what he's used to with the lads, where everyone reaches over each other for take away containers and fights for their favourites. It's perhaps the first time in a while that Louis chooses to stay completely quiet, eager to not be noticed.

“English, please,” he hears Harry speak up next to him, and it feels odd to require special treatment like this, in Harry's own home.

“It's fine, really,” Louis hastens to say but Harry just shakes his head.

“Excuse us,” Anne smiles apologetically, “we're just a little rusty. We haven't been to England for quite some time.”

“But you have been?” Louis asks politely, taking a sip of his water and trying to remember his manners.

“Oh, yes, of course! It's a lovely country. London is such a fascinating city.”

“Suppose it is,” Louis smiles, thinking about what it had felt like to move there, how overwhelmed he'd been and how easily impressed. It seems funny now, and a little sad.

"Where are you from, Louis?" Harry's step-dad asks, still a trace of the s in his name.

"Um, my town's a bit north. Not at all like London, really." Having seen a little of Sweden in his various visits, he can't picture any of the people at the table being particularly impressed with Doncaster. "Very different to here."

Harry seems to lap up any information about Donny that he can get, and looks like he wants to know more, but he holds back, smiling fondly at Louis instead.

“But you live in London now?”

“Um, mostly, yes.”

“Mostly?”

“He has more than one house, mum,” Harry explains like it's obvious and Louis squirms uncomfortably in his seat. He hasn't explicitly told Harry about his property investments and he has no idea how much his parents actually know, but the whole conversation has the potential to derail pretty quickly at this rate. “And then there's the touring,” Harry adds.

"Oh, do you tour a lot?" Anne asks, prompting Louis to nod, ducking his head to eat a bit more.

"Yeah, we spend a lot of time touring, I guess. It's a bit weird, but otherwise we'd be missing out fans in other countries." It feels sort of like being pretentious, when he talks about the band to people who seem to not quite know how big they are. He'd probably hate himself, if he were on the other side of the table. "We just got really lucky, I guess."

There's a pause in which Louis catches a brief look being exchanged between Harry's parents, like concern and disbelief rolled into one, and he feels so stupid, suddenly, for getting their son involved in something that goes way over their heads. They can't possibly want that for their child, and Louis' not sure he wants it for Harry either, but it's too late for that, he tells himself, and Harry made that choice for himself even if he can't possibly know what it's going to be like once the world finds out.

“I've told you all this,” he hears Harry say impatiently. “I've told you they sell out arenas all over the world.” Louis wants to sink through the floor. “And that they've won several Brits and AMAs and they're the first band ever to-”

“Alright,” Louis interrupts with his fingers digging into Harry's thigh to make him shut up. “No need to bore them with details.”

“But that's wonderful, Louis,” Anne says, clearly putting up a brave facade for everyone's sake. “Your family must be so proud of you.”

“Sure,” Louis smiles weakly, letting his hand remain on Harry's leg under the table to try to ground himself. “I'm really sorry to burden you with this but I should mention that you're both going to have to sign non disclosure agreements at some point. It's not that I don't trust you, of course-”

“Just standard procedure,” Harry concludes, clearly trying to gloss over how absurd their situation really is. Louis squeezes his thigh gratefully.

They look a little overwhelmed, and Louis can't blame them. He feels a little out of breath, nauseous. Like he needs to back out of the conversation, way out of the room. He just shows up in their flat, forces them to speak a different language, and then reveals that he's got all this background baggage to lay onto their kid.

They've got a balcony, he knows, but this seems like the kind of family where you can't leave the table until everyone is finished. "Harry," Louis starts, voice raw, "where do you like going, around here? I don't know the town yet." It's a desperate plea for a subject change, and Harry's sympathetic expression is all he needs to know that they aren't talking about him for the rest of the meal.

He tells him about Gothenburg, and then they talk about their day, and about Anne and Robin's upcoming trip to the south for Christmas (which Harry will apparently join when Louis goes home,) and it's alright, for now, even if Louis suspects that Harry's going to have a long conversation with his parents at some point, about Louis. It's not that he hasn't been through it before, El had to go through the same adjustment when they'd first started dating, only they were barely known outside of England at the time and there was no “coming out” to consider. Louis' never been particularly afraid of being different and he doesn't spend a lot of time apologising for who he is but it's not just about him, this time. It's not just about Harry either.

Later, once the food has been cleared and the dishes washed, Harry takes Louis to his room while Anne and Robin watch something on the TV in the living room, and it's nice to just listen to the mumbled voices through the door while they're quite safely wrapped up in their own world, pressed close on Harry's small bed.

"I can't believe they forgot who you are," Harry mumbles, hiding against Louis and shaking his head. "I told them enough times."

"Are they... Do you think they'll still like me?" Louis whispers back, because this feels bigger than them simply not being aware of how big his band is. If he talks louder, perhaps Harry's parents will remember he's here, and remember how uncomfortable they are with him. He doesn't think he's quite as welcome as he was when he walked through the door.

"Of course they like you," Harry frowns, hand teasing through Louis' hair slowly. "They know I like you."

“But Harry,” Louis says, grabbing his wrist to get his attention, “I'm not what they would have chosen for you. My life isn't normal. Being with me is going to fuck your life up, and they know that, but I don't know if you do.”

“Louis,” Harry replies gently, turning onto his back so he can gather Louis up in his arms comfortably, something Louis' still not entirely used to, “I understand a lot more than you give me credit for, which means I get that you won't be able to do anything to change things in the foreseeable future. We can be together, but only behind closed doors. You can break up with El but you might have to pretend to date other girls. There's probably a whole lot of homophobic bullshit typed out in your contract that you never had a reason to look at but as long as we're not official I'll be fine. If I'm just a random mate no one's gonna pay me any mind. We have so much time to work this out, love.”

Louis doesn't like the fact that Harry's apparently given this more thought than he has, but they're all good points. And now he feels like a horrible person for assuming things about Harry's understanding, even if it was unintentional. "I should talk to my lawyer, right?"

Harry nods, rocking him a little bit, and it should feel stifling, but it just feels safe.

"Do that when you go back to England. This is your break, so ignore all that."

“I can't help it,” Louis mumbles, tucking his face into Harry's neck. “I can't help feeling guilty.”

“You have nothing to feel guilty about,” Harry tells him easily. “You've done nothing wrong.”

And he's right, is the thing, but Louis still has to struggle to find it in himself to truly believe it. It's been so long since he got to know someone new, someone outside of the privileged celebrity bubble, that he's forgotten how to behave around people who don't have VIP access to the world. And how ashamed his mother would be if she knew, Louis thinks guiltily, wishing he could be as unapologetic about himself as he'd once been, as Harry is. He just doesn't want to take anything for granted, and he doesn't want to wake up one day and realise it's all changed him for good.

"You... You realise the way I am in interviews isn't exactly me, right? I might be really different after a while..." He's ready to explain, even to show himself out if Harry needs time to readjust how he's come to know Louis, but of course he just smiles, petting his hair gently and smoothing it out down his neck.

"I know. But I imagine you've mellowed out a bit since the X-Factor?"

"Jesus, yes. Please, don't bring that up, I can't believe you remember that," Louis laughs incredulously, twisting to duck away from Harry's own laughter. "Don't remind Niall, he'll bully you into making me watch our old stuff."

"I'm sure many would pay good money for that," Harry assures him slowly, and there it is again, being a spokesperson for the masses. It's such a burden, but it's starting to look like barely anything can shake Harry's calm demeanour. “I know you, Louis,” he adds after a while, meeting Louis' eyes solemnly. “You might not have noticed but we've talked a lot recently.” He smiles, leaning down to press his lips to Louis' briefly. “And I'm not worried. You're good. You're still just a lad from Donny, right?”

Louis let's out a breathy laugh, squirming around a bit until he's more on Harry than beside him. “I try to be,” he admits. “You don't think I'm full of myself, do you?”

Harry shrugs carelessly. “No more than I am,” he says. “I imagine it's easier to stay grounded if you're not born into it, you know?”

“You're really fucking smart,” Louis declares, making Harry chuckle and roll them over, pressing Louis into the mattress firmly. It makes a shiver run down his spine, and it hits him then how utterly _unafraid_ Harry is. Of anything.

"Your parents are literally just across the flat," Louis breathes, closing his eyes as Harry kisses up his throat gently, sinking teeth in for just a second.

"They should know better than to walk in when I've got a cute boy over," Harry whispers, shifting to ease his thigh between Louis'. "Guess we should keep it down. Unless you want to stop?"

"No," Louis breathes, tilting his head back - letting go - maybe for the first time since Harry appeared with that stupid book and made Louis look up. It's a choice, he realises as Harry nudges his shirt up over his stomach clumsily, nuzzling the soft bits that Louis' spent his life trying to cover up. It's a choice to trust someone, and it's dangerous, but it feels damn good, and it's his. Whatever happens next, it's all his.

***

He goes home on the 24th of December, on his birthday. Harry wakes him up with tea and a battered CD by an artist called Håkan Hellström, saying he's a local hero, living just down the road. It's not until later, on the plane home, that Louis realises he has millions of views on YouTube and seven albums out.

The CD has clearly had some use, and Louis can't stop smiling as he listens to the foreign words, having to find translated versions of every song to get even half the real meaning out of them. But this is one of the first things he can get to know about Harry, instead of the other way around.

Doncaster is just as grimy as he remembers, and Louis feels himself relaxing into old routines easily, smiling out of the window as the car passes places that have been there since he was a child. He comes home to party streamers and excited yells from his sisters, wrapped up in a massive hug before he's even kicked off his trainers, and it's a bit weird that the first person he wants to tell about his welcome home party is the boy he woke up with.

"Finally!" his mum exclaims when she catches sight of him. "Took you long enough," she scolds mildly when Louis' pressed to her chest, breathing in and resting his weight on her for a second.

"There's presents for you!" Daisy shouts in his ear, and when Stan stumbles through the door half an hour later, Louis finds that he's happy to be home after all, seated on the living room floor among home made gifts from those who don't deem him deserving of anything more elaborate than a trip to the local crafts shop and some heartfelt gifts rooted in emotion.

He gets a lot of artwork that the youngest have been working on, and the usual mix of albums and shirts. Stan gifts him with video games and box sets for the road, and Louis is so touched that everything fits him so personally that he doesn't stop thanking them, pulling the little ones into his lap and cuddling them, asking for the stories behind their pictures. Of course, he tries it on Stan too, but there's a scuffle and it backfires to end with Louis held in some baby-cradle in his best friend's arms that's far comfier than he would admit.

They all end up piled over the couch and floor, half watching Love Actually in the background and half playing board games, and it strikes Louis when he's staring at a cartoon of a man called George with brown curly hair in 'Guess Who?' that he hasn't contacted Harry since they said goodbye at the airport, and this is maybe the longest time in a while.

And even surrounded by family, on his 23d birthday, he misses him, like there's an empty space on the couch between him and Lottie where Harry most definitely should be.

He finds his phone and sees a photo of a large family squeezed onto sofas and armchairs, much like Louis' are now, with the caption, "Made it just in time for presents!" And Louis remembers that Swedes celebrate on the 24th. To Harry, Christmas is today.

"I got presents too!" he sends back, tilting the display away from Stan who's far too nosy for his own good. Just a few seconds later he gets back: "Do you know why you were born on the 24th?"

Louis smiles incredulously and types, "Bad planning on my parents' part?"

"No," Harry writes back immediately. "Because you're god's gift to mankind."

Louis snorts into his sleeve, amazed that someone like Harry actually exists, and tries to work out how you could possibly come back from that.

"Doesn't feel that special when everyone can't wait for the day after," he types, getting a fairly quick reply.

"Not in Sweden. We all celebrate your day with you :)."

They don't talk much after that, because Louis gets caught up in half hour sessions of wishing his siblings goodnight and catching up on cuddles. It's a team effort, him and his mum getting them all into bed while Stan tidies up downstairs so Christmas can start fresh at whatever obscene hour Louis and the toddlers wake up.

Somehow, Louis ends up on the sofa again with a hot chocolate around ten, cuddling his mum with Father Ted on the TV. Stan's telling some story about Calvin, and it feels like the perfect moment to just _say it_. Louis isn't very good at planning, and if he waits too long he'll over think it, so he just goes for it as soon as Stan pauses.

"I met someone," he says. Stan sips his chocolate without taking his eyes off the TV. His mum is drawing circles on his shoulder absently.

"Oh yeah?" Stan asks distractedly when Louis doesn't continue.

"Yeah," he agrees, swallowing, feeling his heart speed up like a revving engine in his chest. "His name's Harry and I... Um... I love him."

Stan doesn't answer for a moment, and his mum stills her movements where she was petting his hair.

"Where did this come from, then?" Stan asks, twisting away from the telly and looking at Louis carefully. "You've never, like, even hinted that you're gay."

"I don't even know if I am," Louis allows, feeling slightly defensive, already tired of the same stupid question. "But I love Harry, and that's what matters here."

"But sweetheart," his mum chimes in, that classic patronising tone that suggests Louis' just overreacting. "You've got a girlfriend."

"Not anymore," Louis shakes his head, looking at his hands. "We broke up."

"Because of this?" She sounds disbelieving, if not disapproving. Louis knows she likes Eleanor, always has, but it still sits weird in his chest that he should have to justify this.

"No, I met Harry after," he lies, because he doesn't think anyone can handle the whole truth at this point. "We just didn't work out."

"Because you're queer?" Stan asks.

"No. I dunno. Maybe? It doesn't matter. I'm with Harry now."

"How long have you known him? Where did you even meet?" Stan presses, and that's the thing Louis isn't sure he wants to admit. And the thing they're going to fight the most.

"We met about a month ago. At the book signing." He doesn't want to admit it, and that feels awful, because Louis is very aware that Harry puts his heart and soul into Louis' band, and hiding that part of him out of shame feels like betrayal.

"Did he get a book signed?" Stan laughs, clearly joking, but it takes no more than a few seconds before his face falls again. "Are you kidding me?"

"Fuck off, Stan, what do you know about that anyway?"

"Hey, sorry," Stan tries but Louis' so mad and he just wishes Harry were here so they could _see_ how he's not what they're thinking at all.

"So he likes the band, so what?" Louis spits at him. "At least he's a mate. Supportive. Fucking fantastic in bed."

"Louis!" his mum chides him but Stan interrupts.

"Okay, I get it, you like him. And for you to admit to that he's probably pretty damn great, but listen, how do you _know_ he's not using you? How old is he?"

Louis sighs again, dragging a hand over his face so that for just a moment, he can pretend he isn't in this conversation, that he's back in Harry's bed laughing over the weird Swedish birthday song Harry decided to serenade him with.

"He's twenty, and he hasn't even told anyone else. His parents had no idea who I was until we all had dinner. He's not like that."

"You've only known him a month, Lou." His mum's trying to be reasonable, probably, but it just comes off as annoying.

"And he asked me to meet his parents," Louis points out. "Who does that if they're not serious? And yeah, it's new for me in some ways but it isn't for him and he knows what he's getting into. He never asked anything of me, ever. I trust him, end of."

Stan doesn't look convinced, and Louis doesn't dare look at his mum, but both of them know better than to keep a discussion going after he's declared it over.

"So where's he from?" Stan asks at long last when they'd all gone back to watch the TV, tension curling around the room.

"Sweden," Louis replies shortly.

There's another pause, and then his mum says, "You'll have to bring him round sometime then."

Louis looks up, suddenly pulled close with an arm around his neck again. He closes his eyes, letting his mother hold him for a few seconds while his heart adjusts in his chest.

"I will," he promises, extracting himself so he can reach for his phone.

"I told mum and Stan," he texts Harry.

"How did they take it?"

"They'll get used to it," Louis replies and tucks his phone away again.

***

He drives back to London a few days later, calling his lawyer and asking her to check over his contract for any restrictions on sexuality. She doesn't ask questions, but then the request is so explicit that she doesn't need to.

The days that follow are nothing more than a waiting game. For the first time since Louis can remember, he doesn't do anything for New Year's. Harry's at home too, and they spend the evening skyping and watching awful films of Harry's choosing. It's not as bad as it could have been, but with everything up in the air Louis doesn't quite know how to go about his life anymore, with a tour looming closer and a heart full of feelings he hasn't quite grown used to yet.

He meets with his lawyer a week later, and there's a lot of words flying around that he doesn't understand, but he doesn't really have to. The general message seems pretty clear.

“You could try to renegotiate,” his lawyer is telling him seriously, sorting through the papers on her desk, “but it might serve you better to wait.”

“You don't think they'll let me,” Louis says, uncertain how to feel about it all now that it's being spelled out for him.

“No,” she confirms. “There's nothing to be gained, from their point of view.”

“So a year then?”

“Yes, when your contract expires.”

He calls his representative next, telling them about the breakup. He doesn't much care about how they're going to announce it, and he doubts it will warrant more than a silly article in The Sun with plenty of fake quotes and unflattering pictures.

Halfway into January he flies to LA to start writing for a new album.

Liam shares his house while they write to make it seem less foreign, because nowhere really feels like home these days except the bus and Doncaster, and he hasn't properly seen Harry since last year, which sounds terrible in his head. They skype a lot, and text constantly, but Harry feels further away than he did before.

The idea comes when Harry mentions in passing that it's his birthday at the start of February, and he doesn't have much planned. It's the perfect chance to see him again before the tour kicks off, and Harry keeps asking him to take landscape shots of LA for him, so it's clear that he wants to see for himself.

"That the boyfriend?" Liam asks as Louis gets lost in his phone for the third time during their session, concentration dropping as his plans evolve.

"What would you say if I told you I'm having a party?" Louis asks back, ignoring the question.

"I'd say... What do you want me to do?" Liam replies with a wry smile, just like old times, Louis thinks.

"Good man," he nods. "I'm gonna tell everyone."

"About the party?"

"Yeah, and about Harry."

"Oh," Liam exhales, and Louis looks up briefly, to gauge his reaction.

"You think it's a bad idea?" He doesn't want to be told no, especially not by Liam, but he needs to hear it. He needs their support.

"You're gonna have to tell them sooner or later," Liam shrugs. "Did you read through the contract?"

"Yeah," Louis sighs, turning back to his phone and hating the way shame flares up in his chest. "I can't be gay and in a boyband, apparently."

"You can," Liam tells him, resting his arms over the guitar on his lap. "With friends, you can."

Louis gives him a weak smile. "It's Harry's birthday," he says.

"How old?"

"Twenty one. Think we can make it unforgettable?"

"Nothing's better than a Tommo party," Liam promises, and Louis feels the shame fade away, replaced by finally having a date set to see Harry, a plan he can work on.

Harry seems overjoyed when Louis presents the offer over a FaceTime session that evening, and Louis dedicated his spare time to going through a list of their crew, working out who he trusts to meet Harry and learn what he is to Louis. He even works on several drafts of an e-mail inviting them. He's never spent this much time and energy on something alone, but it seems worth it when he presents Liam with the finished message and guest list late one night.

"It's simple," he nods seriously, bent over Louis' laptop on the couch, reading it through again quickly. "Kind of... unapologetic. I like it."

"Do you think they'll be okay?" Louis asks quietly because it would have been a lie to say that he isn't scared. This is his family, people he's spent years with on the road, and he doesn't know if he's ever felt more vulnerable.

"They know you," Liam says as if it's easy. "It doesn't change anything."

Louis' silent for a moment, studying his hands before he says, "In a year, if I'm still with him, what do you think I should do?"

"Tell the world," Liam shrugs.

"It might ruin things for you," Louis points out quietly, trying not to let it get to him.

"Ruin what? Our management is crap, Louis, I mean, it's no secret. We all want a new start, and I think, more than anything to just be ourselves. And the people who stick around for that... At least we'll know they're in it for the right reasons."

"And you think it's worth it?"

"We achieved our dream, didn't we?" Liam answers with a goofy smile that turns his eyes into slits as he peers at Louis over the laptop screen. "But I bet you we can do even better."

***

Louis stands on the edge of a group, only pretending to listen to the topic. His real attention is across the room, where Harry is comfortably chatting with the other boys. They got on immediately, and after Harry apologised his way through pointless introductions with Louis' arm around his waist, they didn't need Louis as a buffer at all. Harry was asking insightful questions and explaining his own culture, and Louis is just so proud of him.

"I think I get it, now," Lou Teasedale informs Louis, snapping him out of his long distance staring at Harry's long legs. He turns his attention to Lou, but keeps his body angled towards Harry instinctively.

"What?"

"I spoke to Harry earlier. A right charmer, you'd better hang on to him before the fans notice a new pretty boy hanging around." She smiles, but Louis feels something like jealousy curling in his chest.

"They can't have him," he says childishly, knowing full well that he's being ridiculous, but also feeling like Lou's right. He does have to hold onto Harry, hard, as the world will inevitably work to keep them apart. It's just the way it is.

"Has anyone said anything?" Louis asks quietly, surveying the room where people generally seem to be having a good time.

"Most didn't believe it," Lou answers him truthfully. "Thought you were winding them up." Louis can't say he's surprised. "But I'm sure they believe you now."

"They'll like him, right?"

"Yes, Boobear." Lou rolls her eyes and plants a heavy arm over his shoulders, "He's lovely."

Louis feels something settle a bit in his chest then, a kind of worry that had been present for far longer than he'd been aware of. Harry smiles over at him and Louis' drawn to it like a moth, shuffling over to completely interrupt whatever conversation is going on by pressing his lips to Harry's, to prove to himself that he can. It's the first time they've ever kissed with people watching.

He's fairly sure he hears a few people cooing at them, but his attention is entirely on Harry, who looks overjoyed with a pink hue to his cheeks that doesn't seem to be from the drink he's holding.

"Do that again," Niall announces, pulling out his phone, "this is one for the record books, Louis Tomlinson smiling and kissing at the same time."

And Louis does, thinking that this really is the first time since the band started that he's been completely happy in his relationship. Eleanor always felt like effort, never both of them in a good place at the same time, and this already feels different. Harry's arms are around his neck, his smile drifting in and out of Louis' vision as they kiss, and he refuses to feel anything but victorious to have come this far.

The party is a massive success, which comes as no surprise to anybody, but the highlight of the evening is when Liam breaks out the karaoke and Harry immediately claims it, effortlessly perfecting as many One Direction songs as the crowd lets him. Louis refuses to participate, too busy watching Harry in shock, but the others provide excellent backing vocals, with Zayn attempting to freestyle his harmonies at every opportunity.

Somewhere past 2am, Louis becomes aware that he's on a table in the dining room, accent in full swing as he addresses his tour family and thanks them for being so welcoming.

He's a bit drunk, swaying slightly under the glowing lights, and the attention makes him giddy, spurring him on. "I know you all thought I was taking the piss," he states with a rueful smile, "and I can't fault you for that. Louis Tomlinson, straightest bloke in England, right?" A ripple of laughter runs through the crowd and Louis sees Harry just below him, smiling serenely. "Well, what can I say? I live to surprise," he says with his eyes still on Harry, pride clogging up his throat as he reaches out to pull him onto the table with him.

Harry stumbles a bit, feet catching on bottles as he finds his balance on the surface, but Louis keeps a tight hand around his waist.

"I hope you've all been very nice to young Harold," he continues, "and I would like to propose a toast. So, um, here's to birthdays, and... friends. Specifically my boyfriend."

Everyone shouts cheers, just as Harry yells "skål" and raises his glass to drink.

It's a miracle that neither of them fall off the table.

By the time the sun is starting to come up, it's just the five of them left, spread out on the terrace furniture to watch the sunrise. It's chilly but Louis feels warm under a blanket at Harry's side, a cigarette held loosely between two fingers and a bottle of wine in the other. He's passing it over to Harry as Niall says, "I don't think I ever told you but I'm impressed, really. I mean, respect, lads. It takes guts to just... be out and proud and stuff."

"It's not really a choice," Harry states, voice slow and faintly melodic. He takes another mouthful of wine, the colour making his lips look even more amazing in this light, and smiles down at Louis like he's the sun they've all gathered to watch.

"I guess not," Liam agrees, and he's got that puppy look on his face like he's seeing something that makes his heart ache a bit, and that's not something Louis' used to seeing directed towards him so he snuggles closer to Harry, burying into his shirt. There's a fucking flamingo in his face, but it's fine.

"Still," Niall says, yawning, "I'm proud of you."

Zayn and Liam make mumbled sounds of agreement, Louis hides his smile in Harry's flamingo shirt, and then they watch the sun emerge through a pink stained sky, rising and rising.

***

Louis has no idea what time it is when he wakes, but the sun is showing through the edge of his curtains and there's a warm hand rubbing his back in slow circles, coaxing him awake.

"I got you tea," Harry whispers, voice strained like it's painful to talk at all, to make any noise, and Louis is so very grateful that he didn't have to get up and go to the kitchen that he weakly drags Harry back into bed, curling around him and attempting to show his gratitude through uncoordinated kisses.

"What did you think of everyone? The crew and stuff?" he asks later, trying to sound casual, like he didn't introduce two of the most important aspects of his life. If he didn't like them, Louis isn't sure what he'll do.

"They seemed nice," Harry says politely, shifting and lying down with his head on Louis' lap, smiling up at him. "Zayn's super cool."

"Yeah, yeah," Louis allows, making Harry smile wider.

"I feel like I'm dreaming..." Harry sings, squirming away when Louis tries to slap a hand over his mouth. "Oh, so I know, I know, I know, I know that I'll never leave it..."

Louis finally manages to quiet him with a clumsy kiss that tastes mostly like Yorkshire tea.

"Seriously," he mumbles against Harry's skin, holding onto his wrists tightly, "I need to ask you something."

Harry twists, leaning up on his elbows and watching Louis intently, and it still feels like he can't move, when Harry fixes his eyes on him like this.

"So there was another reason I asked the crew to come to our party," Louis starts, playing with the covers and picking his words carefully. "I want you to get to know them because, like, I want you to come with us, on tour."

"For how long?" Harry frowns.

"As long as you'd like," Louis shrugs, feeling a little laid bare as he realises just how important this is. "I mean, I was thinking all of it, like, you could get a job with the catering team maybe, and stay with me in my house for the European leg, and I dunno... I dunno what you want."

Harry's staring at him and Louis' got absolutely nowhere to hide. "You want me with you all the time?"

"Yeah..." Louis breathes carefully. "Yeah, of course I do."

He's not quite sure what he expects Harry to say, how he'll take it when Louis' only known him three months, but then Harry's climbing up the bed, tacking Louis into the mattress and kissing all over his face, laughing like it hurts to be so loud but he can't help it.

"Of course I want to tour with you," he grins, licking into Louis' mouth with complete disregard to how disgusting they must taste, and Louis clings to him like a lifeline.

"Really?" he asks weakly, pressed snug into the mattress by Harry's weight, just the way he likes.

"I've got nothing to lose," Harry answers honestly, smoothing down Louis' hair that's got all tangled and sweaty.

"But what about your life? Your family?" Louis needs to be sure, needs to know that Harry isn't just saying yes now when he needs time.

"You did it, because you knew it's all you wanted," Harry points out, and Louis has no argument for that.

"And what do you want?" he murmurs, needing to know that it's not just him and his big, reckless heart in the end.

"You," Harry smiles slowly, making Louis' chest ache with it, thighs sliding together as Harry rolls his hips, pressing wet lips to the corner of Louis' mouth.

"Yeah?" he breathes, barely aware as his back arches slightly, knees spreading.

"You're all I want," Harry tells him and Louis knows what's coming but he hasn't got the heart to stop him, not when he knows it makes him so happy. "So much it's hurting," Harry sings, and it does, Louis thinks, because he got it right this time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> http://evelynegrey.tumblr.com/
> 
> http://genderqueerharrystyles.tumblr.com/


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